Who's Your Daddy?
by I Suffer From Hubris
Summary: Clary is pregnant, but who's the father? And was it from that orgy, or those other times? What's a ginger to do? AU; all human. Rated T for suggestive themes, alcohol use, language, and all that jazz.
1. Satin Dresses

**Who's Your Daddy?**

_Chapter One: Satin Dresses_

Clary Fray, newly twenty-one, was stressed. On the surface, her life was near-perfect for someone of her age.

She had skipped out on college, instead opting to go to art school for two years, taking up photography as a side hobby. Since she was in the middle of Manhattan, it gave her easy access to runways and fashion shows. Clary always took her camera, and somehow managed to snag some top-notch photographs of models and such.

At a show, one day, for the European-based line _Seelie QUEEN_, one of the other designers that had been watching caught her taking her pictures. He pulled her aside afterward and Clary had been afraid that he was going to turn her in, but he said he just wanted to look at her work, because he'd seen her around.

And, what do you know, Magnus Bane had actually offered Clary a job in his art department as an intern.

Even so, the new job was turning out to be pretty stressful. At first, Clary had assumed that being surrounded by gorgeous model boys (and girls) would be wonderful, but it was more work than she ever thought it would be.

Clary looked at herself in her vanity table's mirror. She wasn't nearly as beautiful as the models she knew. How could she compete with that?

All she had was her curly red hair, green eyes, and freckles. The models, every day, in any situation, were far more attractive than she ever could be, even when she was trying to look pretty. Would anyone ever even look twice at her?

Not that she was on the market. Her eyes darted half-guiltily to a picture stuck into the side of her mirror. It was of Clary and her boyfriend, Simon, taken when they were still in high school. When they were happy.

Simon's arm was around her waist in the picture and they were both beaming, dressed to the nines in formal wear. Prom.

Clary and Simon had been best friends since they were in elementary school, and had fallen in love as teenagers. High school sweethearts, she remembered. Those were the good times.

Then Simon had gone off to college (environmental studies major; he'd picked it at random) and Clary had to finish off her senior year in loneliness. She was left to wonder what had happened to their talks of growing up and getting married, while Simon lived the college life. They'd grown increasingly distant, until his sophomore year when the formerly happy couple lost contact entirely.

But, four months ago, she'd gotten her new job. Clary had gone to the coffee machine on the second day to get her usual morning cup of the stuff (she'd forgotten to hit up Starbucks) and, what do you know, he was there, filling a large to-go cup with decaf. Simon had asked her out again, and they rekindled their relationship, although it seemed strained. At least to Clary.

There were other pictures of the two of them around Clary's mirror, from photo booths and malls and restaurants and such.

Clary found herself staring at a different sort of photograph altogether, one that she had taken from a _Bane Inc._ fashion show before she worked there.

It was of a magnificently good-looking, blonde-haired god of sorts named Jace Wayland strutting down the runway, looking more like an avenging angel than Clary would have expected possible, especially for a male model. He was so incredibly handsome...

Jace Wayland wasn't his real name. It was a pseudonym, meant to differentiate him from his fraternal twin, Sebastian Morgenstern, who was hot in the modeling world, too. Their father, Valentine, was in politics, currently a state representative but pushing for President. So, instead of going by his actual name, Jonathan Morgenstern became Jace Wayland.

And Clary Fray had a crush.

Which she shouldn't.

Because one day she would probably become Mrs. Clary Lewis. If things kept going the way they were, that is.

She had a bit of a collection going, of pictures of Jace, all stationed around her mirror like orderly soldiers. Clary probably had more pictures of him than she did of herself and Simon.

Jace in his commercial campaigns and on the runways, looking gorgeous in every shot.

What a beautiful man.

Then Clary caught her own gaze in the mirror and feelings of unworthiness, like an old shoe might feel if old shoes had feelings, crashed over her. She was so average, like... a Raggedy Ann doll in a world of Barbies and Kens.

Angry tears flowing into her eyes, Clary stood up abruptly and stomped over to her bed, flopping down on it and burying her face in her pillow.

Barely a minute had passed when there were a few sharp knocks at her apartment door.

Clary groaned and started walking through her single-floored abode (it was all she could afford), hastily wiping any remnants of tears from her eyes and praying that whoever it was wouldn't notice.

Clary opened the door to reveal a beautiful, tall, glamorous young woman standing in the hallway. It was Isabelle, one of Clary's best friends. The black-haired girl gave Clary a bright smile, immediately reaching down to hug her tightly. "Happy birthday, Clary! I can't believe you're twenty-one!"

"Yeah, I can't either," Clary said as her friend pulled away. "Thanks for stopping over."

"Stopping over?" echoed Isabelle. "I'm taking you out for martinis, now that you actually can go legally."

Clary didn't meet Isabelle's toothy grin. "I don't know, Izzy..."

"Nonsense." She held up a manicured hand. "Now let me in so I can dress you."

"But-" Clary tried to protest, nonetheless moving out of Isabelle's way.

The model marched past her, grabbing her wrist and dragging Clary towards her own bedroom, only releasing her after they crossed through the kitchen. "No buts, Clarissa. I am _going_ to dress you whether you like it or not."

Clary scampered after her helplessly, trying to keep up with Isabelle's long-legged, high-heeled stride.

Isabelle had reached Clary's bedroom, and was now placing two dress-bags she had been holding behind her back on the bed, unwrapping them carefully.

Both were cocktail dresses, one black and lacy and the other green and satiny.

"Mine," Isabelle said, gesturing to the black dress, "and yours," with a nod at the green.

Clary opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Finally, "Um... I don't know..."

"Wear it," her friend said firmly, so Clary gritted her teeth and picked the garment up off her bed.

"Fine, Isabelle," she groaned.

Isabelle was already undressing herself, pulling off her tank top as if it were nothing. Wow, Clary noticed. She really has no problems with that, stripping down in front of me. Does that come with being a model?

As Clary reluctantly tugged off her denim cutoffs, she unintentionally started glancing at Isabelle every so often.

Isabelle was so beautiful! Why _wouldn't_ Clary feel so inferior, as inferior as she felt as she surreptitiously surveyed Isabelle's moderately pale body, all smooth curves and milky skin.

Clary glanced down and was met by her freckled, twig-like body. Why couldn't she be beautiful like Isabelle?

"Do you need something?" Isabelle asked, pulling a dress strap over her shoulder and then fluffing up her hair.

I really need to get over my low self-esteem, Clary thought, blushing at being caught staring. "No, I'm just nervous." Envious, really.

Isabelle looked skeptical for a moment, but then stomped over to Clary, yanking off the latter's shirt.

"W-what are you doing?" Clary gasped as Isabelle forced the green dress over her head.

"You were taking too long. I'm dressing you." After a few adjustments, Clary sputtering hopelessly, the dress was fully on. Isabelle then pushed Clary onto the vanity table's seat, facing away from the mirror.

"I-Isabelle-"

"Stop talking." The model was pawing through the ginger's makeup supplies scattered across the vanity's surface. "Damn it. Don't you have any real makeup instead of this preteen shit?"

Clary took offense to that. "What's wrong with lip-gloss?" Lip-gloss made her feel pretty. And besides, it was Mountain Dew flavored!

Isabelle shook her head sadly, as if she couldn't believe her ears. "Honestly, Clary, the fact that you had to ask that question worries me." She began rifling through her own purse, a gigantic black leather bag with a logo for _Seelie QUEEN_ on the side of it. "But, thankfully, I always make sure to bring makeup with me. Now hold still."

Then she set to work on Clary's hair, hair-spraying and teasing and twisting it until she was satisfied, which seemed to take forever.

"Are you done yet?" Clary grumbled, and was met with a sharp tug of her hair, followed by a mist of hair spray.

"No. Almost done."

"When do I get to see?"

"When I tell you that you can." After a few more minutes, "Alright, now. Go ahead and look."

Clary rose shakily to her bare feet, turning around to see her reflection as if in a daze.

Her eyes looked huge and green, framed by thick eyeliner and impossibly long, black eyelashes. Her cheeks were hollowed to almost skeletal proportion, lips a smooth and dark shade of purplish-red.

Clary's vibrant red hair was slicked back into a voluminous pouf, which opened seamlessly into a cloud of hard curls that draped down the back of her neck.

She was in a bright green, satin cocktail dress that hit just above her knees. The color was of spring grass, but more vivid. The dress itself was sleeveless, and seemed to be 1920s-inspired, what with the drop-waist and high, emerald-framed neckline. Sadly, it wasn't the most flattering style for Clary's body type, but the dress still looked beautiful.

Then it hit Clary. I look like I just stepped off a runway, she thought. But I'm still not as beautiful as the models are.

As if to prove her point, Isabelle put a hand on her hip, which she, in turn, pushed out. It was a harmless enough gesture, but it made Clary's stomach turn. She tried not to cry, since this was supposed to be a fun night.

To distract herself, she went into her closet to look for shoes to wear. Without thinking, she grabbed her usual footwear, a pair of green Skechers sneakers that made Clary feel like a marathon runner. She started to put them on over her naked feet until Isabelle interrupted her.

"The hell do you think you're doing?" Isabelle was outraged; it was obvious. "You can't wear those hideous sneakers to get martinis!"

Clary had forgotten what she was wearing and where they were going. Blushing, she pulled them off.

Isabelle was already fishing through Clary's closet, grumbling to herself. "God, Clary, first the lip-gloss and now you don't have any decent heels! Do you do all your shopping at _Forever 21_ or something?"

"No," Clary pouted, although it was lost because the model had her back turned. "I didn't do _all_ my shopping there." Only some of it. "And besides, I _am_ twenty-one."

"No excuses. Grow up. You're not a teenager anymore, so stop acting like it. And more importantly, for God's sake, stop _dressing like it!_ How does Simon even look twice at you?"

Truthfully? "I don't know," Clary said miserably.

Isabelle turned her head to look at her friend, brows furrowed. "I didn't mean it like that," she amended quietly. "I just mean wardrobe-wise. Like, do you even have any lingerie?"

"No," Clary replied, confused.

"But what do you do when you and Simon have sex?"

"We haven't." They almost did on many occasions, but they'd stuck to kissing and relatively innocent groping.

Isabelle's eyes widened. "You're a _virgin_?" The way she said it almost made it sound like it was a horrific disease like leprosy, or maybe even AIDS. All Clary did was never have sex.

"Well... yeah," Clary said, feeling stupid. Only Isabelle could demean her that much unintentionally.

"I feel so bad for you," Isabelle proclaimed ardently, still shuffling through Clary's shoe collection that was mainly composed of sneakers, sandals, and flip-flops.

Clary's next words tumbled out of her mouth. It didn't occur to her until after she said them that they were prying, and none of her business. "When was your first time, Izzy?"

Isabelle said with barely a pause, "When I was fifteen. I was just starting my modeling career and there was this totally sexy guy I knew who was in his early twenties. I told him I was nineteen, and he invited me over to his apartment."

"And you _slept with him_?"

"Yeah, what else was I supposed to do? But it was definitely worth it."

"Izzy! That's statutory rape!" Leave it to Isabelle, Clary thought, to break the law the first time she had sex. "Did you ever tell him your real age?"

"Of _course_ not. I like the older guys, Clare-bear. They're more mature, and they have _lots_ more experience, if you know what I mean." She finally got to her feet, holding a pair of strappy burgundy heels that had been hidden at the bottom of the pile. "I guess these'll have to do. At least they go with your makeup. When did you even get these?"

Clary flushed again. "Simon got them for me. I don't really like wearing them." Thus why they were at the bottom of her pile of shoes. They made her look like a stripper, after all, and she wasn't good at walking in high heels. Especially four-inch heels, like Isabelle was holding.

"You're going to wear them anyway, whether you like it or not. And besides, they'll make you at least 5'5"."

Clary hated the fact that she was 5'1½" in a world of statuesque women like Isabelle. "Fine. Hand them over."

Isabelle did so and Clary strapped them on, carefully getting to her feet. Her knees wobbled slightly and, when she tried to walk, gave out entirely. Thankfully, Clary had her bed to collapse onto.

"Clary, Clary, Clary," Isabelle groaned dramatically. "Can't you-"

"Just give me a minute to get used to them," the redhead snapped, once again standing up. She felt her legs tremble, but she steadied herself and took a step.

This one was quite more productive than the first, so Clary took a few more, experimentally strutting in awkward circles around her room, Isabelle watching with an eyebrow raised.

Feeling confident in her newfound ability to walk in heels, Clary leaped forward onto one foot towards Isabelle, intending to end in a balletic pose. Sadly, she misjudged her talent, toppling onto her friend.

"CLARY!" Isabelle reprimanded, pushing her into a standing position. "What the hell was that supposed to accomplish? You know, that stupid leap at the end, there?"

"I don't know what came over me!"

"I don't give a shit what came over you! You almost ripped my dress."

That seemed like an overstatement, but Clary's heart sank when she realized how beautiful Isabelle looked, especially dressed up.

Isabelle was clad in a gorgeous, one-shoulder, slinky black dress. It was overlaid with black lace, and it made Isabelle look so sexy that Clary knew she could never compare. It was only reasonable that a fifteen-year-old version of this Isabelle could seduce an older man and convince him that she was nineteen. Clary was in an entirely different universe from the goddess in front of her.

Isabelle had done her makeup before coming over, heavy eyeliner with smoky eyes and dark red lipstick. The colors made her look mysterious, and coupled with her long, straight black hair, infinitely more of a model than Clary could ever be.

"What?" Isabelle asked suddenly. "Why are you looking at me like that? You didn't actually rip my dress, did you?"

Clary felt embarrassed. "No." To change the subject, she started lunging around the room again. "This is harder than it looks, but easier than I originally thought it would be."

"Stop walking like that. You look like an idiot."

Clary froze in her tracks. "Then how am I supposed to walk?"

"Normally!" Isabelle glanced at Clary's green alarm clock, the display reading 7:38 PM. "Damn it! We need to go."

"Go where?" The ginger was now confused again.

"To get martinis! Come on!" Isabelle pushed Clary out of her own apartment, her victim ducking back to lock the front door.

When Clary turned around, she was shocked to see a long, black, stretch limo in the road, waiting for her.

"Your chariot awaits," said Isabelle, standing on the sidewalk. "Just get in, if you can still walk."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: No, I'm not neglecting my Revised City of Bones story. Chapter Nine will be up in a few days, hopefully. **

**So, what did you think? Chapter Two is already posted! Read and review!**

Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments series by Cassandra Clare.


	2. The Sculpted Lady

_Chapter Two: The Sculpted Lady_

Clary felt indescribably fancy, riding in a limo. But she was nervous at the prospect of getting martinis. The only alcohol she'd ever tasted was a bit of her mother's wine when she was twelve. It tasted horrible. Were martinis better?

The limousine sped through the city, eventually drawing to a stop outside a swanky-looking building with a sign that read: THE SCULPTED LADY.

The chauffeur came around the side to open the door, and the two girls descended to the sidewalk, Isabelle looking polished and Clary agape.

Clary was even so surprised that she almost fell over; that is, until the nice chauffeur caught her and all.

"Thanks," she said breathlessly as Isabelle rolled her eyes and impatiently gestured for Clary to hurry up.

The dolled-up ginger did so, awkwardly loping along the path to the lounge with her friend, wobbling occasionally but managing to steady herself.

"Chill," Isabelle commanded. "This is going to be a lot of fun."

But I've never even been to a lounge before, Clary thought. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to act?

There were going to be _people_ in there. Real, live people. Would she and Isabelle make a scene coming in? What if everyone started staring at Isabelle because she was so pretty and at Clary because she so obviously wasn't?

Clary suddenly felt sick, and considered making an excuse to go home now...

No, her mind nagged. You only turn twenty-one once, and you are _going_ to enjoy yourself!

Clary, therefore, gritted her teeth and plowed on, repressing her feelings of inadequacy.

Even so, her legs wobbled nervously when the two ascended the stairs to enter. Clary felt like running away and screaming, but she was suddenly indoors.

Her eyes widened, and she took in the scene.

The first thing she noticed was the dim lighting. Then, the long bar along the back wall. Then, the couches and chairs and high tables. The pounding music, what sounded like Clary's favorite band The Doors. The pleasant aroma of oranges and sandalwood, her favorite blend of incense. And, finally, the group of people hanging in and around the giant room.

Isabelle strutted off to a corner, abandoning Clary in the doorway. Panic settled into her as she stared, like a deer in the headlights, at all the people who were, in turn, staring back at her. What was Isabelle doing? Clary was alone in the doorway, surrounded by people, and-

"SURPRISE! Happy birthday, Clary!"

It was... a party? For her?

The menacing, probing faces around her seemed to transform at that moment, transform into her coworkers and models from _Bane Inc_.

"Huh?" she said dazedly. "This is... a surprise party?"

A camera flashed, making Clary blind for a few moments. Some people laughed, and the birthday girl blushed. Did she even _know_ most of these people?

Scanning the crowd, Clary glimpsed Simon, who gave her an encouraging smile like he did in middle school when Clary was a one-line character in the school play. Just like then, he gave her confidence, and she managed to smile back.

Isabelle came back over, wrapping an arm around Clary's shoulders and steering her towards the bar. Some people in the crowd laughed jovially.

"Now, Clary," Isabelle was saying as she forced Clary into an elaborate bar stool. "It's time for your ceremonial first legal drink!" Cheers and wolf-whistles went up though the small gathering of people.

Clary stared blankly at the bartender, an average-looking man whose hair was a muddy shade of blonde, spiked up into hot pink tips. He had a relatively nice complexion, minus his awkwardly orange fake tan. His nametag said, "Eric", and he winked at the birthday girl.

He said in a greasy-sounding voice that was not altogether unpleasant to Clary, "So what'll it be, pretty lady?"

Clary let loose a semi-nervous giggle. A man actually thought she was pretty! "Um, I dunno..."

"Give her a Jell-O shot!" someone yelled from the group of guests.

Eric winked at her again. "Then a Jell-O shot it'll be. What color?"

"Green," Clary said immediately, supplying not only her favorite color but also her favorite Jell-O flavor.

"Green it is." That Eric guy had a weird way of speaking! Clary shifted back and forth nervously, tapping her feet together to the beat of the song that was playing, "Crystal Ship". She loved that song...

Someone slid into the seat next to her. Her head turned abruptly, her hair curiously staying in place. It was Simon, his lips bent back into a smile.

"Simon!" she exclaimed.

He leaned in to give her an awkward-yet-pleasant peck on the lips. "Hey, Clary."

She absentmindedly wiped some burgundy lipstick from his mouth. "Thanks for coming! I'm so happy to see you here!" The last time she had seen him was two days before, in the employee lounge, where they usually met up on such Thursdays. They'd had a nice, somehow calm, fifteen-minute makeout session, and then took a field trip to the coffee machine. Since then, she missed him dearly.

"Why would I miss the party of my favorite Clary?" Simon was so sweet; he was so nice to her, as if he were constantly making up for the couple years they lost contact.

He had certainly gotten hotter since high school, and dressed better than Clary would have considered possible for him. He'd turned into a "hipster" at some point in college, even down to the candy-apple red Buddy Holly glasses that he always wore. Tonight, Simon was dressed in a clingy white T-shirt with a deep V-neck that showed off his chest underneath a gray, tailored blazer, designer jeans, and black boots. When Clary had first seen his new style at work, she'd assumed that he was now gay, but she was wrong. At least, thought Clary, I hope so.

But he was the one who asked her out at the coffee machine, so whatever.

And, either way, his new clothes looked really hot on him. That, and he finally grew into his features and everything. For example, Clary had always loved his angular, Jewish nose, but since when did he make it look so attractive? Since he lost his baby fat, of course. Simon had been cute and boy-next-door when they dated in high school, but now he was hot and metrosexual.

Which Clary loved, naturally.

But why is he with me? she thought miserably.

"Something wrong?" he asked, brow furrowing adorably.

Clary covered it up with a smile. "No, I'm fine. What does alcohol taste like?"

"You'll find out soon enough," her boyfriend laughed as the bartender set down a small glass filled with green Jell-O in front of Clary. "Oh, hey, Eric."

"Sup, Simon?" Eric grinned, leaning on an elbow in front of him. "You want your usual?" Simon had been here before?

"Sure. How've you been lately?"

Eric began to mix Simon's drink, but kept talking. "Alright, I guess. Practicing poetry when I'm not here. It's not taking off yet, so maybe I'm doing something wrong. Yourself?"

"Going to work, you know, the usual."

"You still play Dungeons and Dragons?"

That made Simon laugh, which in turn made Clary smile. She remembered when he had been obsessed with it. "Not quite. I've moved on to World of Warcraft."

"Nice." Eric laid a martini glass filled with light green liquid down on the bar in front of his somewhat-friend. "Your apple martini."

Simon picked it up and was about to put the salt-caked rim to his lips, but paused, looking at Clary. "You're not going to drink your Jell-O shot?"

Clary forced a smile. "I think so, but..."

Simon sighed, half-smiling nonetheless. "It's alright. I know you're nervous."

"A bit." A hysterical giggle slipped out. "Okay, a lot. A lot nervous."

"I'll walk you through it," he vowed, placing his glass back on the counter and adjusting his bright red glasses. "First, Clary, you pick up your shot glass."

Clary's small, freckled hand reached out, grabbing it and hovering a few inches off the flat surface of the bar table.

She was so happy that Simon was helping her through it. "Now, on the count of three, you're going to pour it into your mouth as fast as you can."

"All of it?"

"All of it." Clary took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself, as Simon began to count. "One... two... three."

On 'three', Clary propelled the Jell-O into her mouth and slammed the glass back onto the counter.

The Jell-O was familiarly delicious, but it also tasted slightly bitter. Clary swallowed, and a strange feeling washed over her, like her head was flying for a second. Her eyes widened and she couldn't fight a triumphant grin as cheers went up from the crowd.

"Well?" Simon pressed, sipping his martini. "How was it?"

"I think I like being twenty-one," Clary said, to the accompaniment of a few peals of laughter. "Can I have another?"

Eric warned, "You shouldn't overdo it, birthday girl. Wait a little while before you have another drink."

Clary jumped off the bar stool, landing on her high heels and swaying slightly. "That's A-okay with me!" Suddenly, Clary was enjoying herself.

A new world had been opened to Clarissa Fray, one of vodka-induced spinning heads and tipsy fun.

"Thank you very much, Simon!" she chirped. "You too, Eric!" She saw Isabelle standing a few feet away, looking amused. Clary tottered over at rapid speed in her heels, throwing her arms around the slightly older (but much taller) girl. "And thank you the most, Izzy! This is the best party ever!"

Isabelle gently peeled her away. "Good. You hungry?"

"Yeah, a bit," Clary realized. "Actually, a lot."

As if on cue, several people dressed identically to Eric (off-white button-down shirts with dark brown bowties and matching shapeless brown pants) came out of a set of swinging doors on the left wall.

She was interrupted, however, from her study of the area by a hand on her back and a low, languid voice that said, "Clary."

The ginger spun around, and came face to face with none other than her boss, the illustrious Magnus Bane. He was in a modified, modernized, plum-colored version of a Victorian gentleman's suit that he had undoubtedly designed himself, with his black hair down, hanging below his chin. Eyeliner framed his catlike eyes, and Clary thought, He looks like a black panther come to life. A really sexy panther, that is.

"Oh, hey, Mr. Bane," she said, recovering from the shock of seeing such a famous and beautiful man up close. How was it fair that even this _fashion designer_ was so attractive?

"Please," he said with the hint of a smirk. "Call me Magnus." Magnus Bane's voice was low, sleepy, and musical, almost like he was singing instead of speaking. "Calling me Mr. Bane makes me feel old."

"You can't be that old," Clary said in amazement. "You don't look a day over twenty-four."

Someone appeared at Magnus's side. "Congratulations for your birthday, Clary." This voice was higher, but still undeniably belonged to a young man.

"Alex, right?" Clary clarified. She recognized the newcomer as Isabelle's older brother, coincidentally the boyfriend of Magnus. But the name wasn't quite right...

"Alec," he corrected in his cute voice.

Alec Lightwood was every bit as beautiful as his sister, with the same angular features, milky skin, and shiny black hair. But where her eyes were brown, Alec's were the luminous dark blue of bottle glass. He was a model like Isabelle, but only part-time because he was notoriously self-conscious.

Even in his neatly tailored suit with his unruly hair combed, Alec looked uncomfortable. Except when Magnus put his arm around him. Alec relaxed into his boyfriend's shoulder, and finally looked like he belonged.

It was so cute that Clary was instantly jealous. And both of them were so tall- Magnus was at least 6'4" and Alec not far behind.

But they weren't as towering as usual, because Clary was in high heels and was now 5'5½".

"Thank you for coming," she said honestly. "This whole party was such a surprise!"

Magnus chuckled and Alec smiled. Clary wanted someone who would be that cute with her.

But I've got Simon, she mentally corrected. I've always got Simon.

Isabelle walked up to the group of three. "I hate to interrupt your conversation, but it's time for dinner." She gestured to a long table along the left wall, which was now set up buffet-style. "And since Clary is the guest of honor, she goes first."

Clary felt excited, and brought her hands to either side of her own face. "Really?"

Isabelle tugged Clary's hands down. "Don't do that. It'll smear your makeup."

After a brief goodbye to Magnus and Alec, Clary pranced over to the buffet table. It was full of all her favorite foods, coconut pancakes and spicy french fries and nacho cheese and cucumber sandwiches and honeydew melon and salmon and fruit salad and spaghetti in mushroom sauce.

It looked delicious.

And it was all for her birthday.

The mixed aromas of the food wafted over as if tempting her, so Clary seized a plate and began to dish up as if in a daze. A line formed behind her, and once her plate was full to the brim, she moved over to sit down in the first seat she saw, a fluffy couch against the opposite wall.

Clary began to eat her feast, delighting in the utter sensations of the stuff.

She was immersed in her food, mouth stuffed and face down, when someone came over to sit next to her.

Clary glanced up.

Good God.

It was Jace!

Jace Wayland!

Clary's food almost fell out of her mouth, but she swallowed it and prayed that she didn't look stupid.

Jace was so completely gorgeous! He blew anyone she had ever seen out of the water. Up close, he fit the image of perfection just as much as from a distance, and she caught herself getting lost in his eyes, a shade of brown so light and buttery that it looked gold.

He met her gaze with a grin, before looking down at his plate and assiduously cutting up his salmon. "I must be lucky," he said in a naturally seductive voice, "to be able to sit with the birthday girl."

It was all Clary could do not to start giggling. "Oh, it's nothing. It's so great to finally meet you!"

"Thanks," he replied, taking a bite of fish. Clary noticed that his canines extended a bit over his lower teeth, almost mirroring fangs. Strangely, his lack of a perfect set of chompers made him even more attractive, if that were possible. "It's always nice when people are fans. Are you one of the interns? I think I've seen you scurrying around."

He recognized her? "Yeah, I'm in the art department."

"Well," said Jace, having another bite. "I'm pleased to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine." Clary's eyes raked over his curly blonde hair, his amazing face, and his body: muscles poorly concealed by a tight black shirt, a matching black suit coat, and black pants that left nothing to the imagination.

"So, Clary, what do you do in your free time when you aren't interning?"

He wanted to know her hobbies? "Well... I draw a lot. And I'm really into photography."

"Really? That's interesting." Jace bit into a cucumber sandwich, before almost spitting it out.

"What's wrong?" Clary worried.

Jace's nose was wrinkled, obviously disgusted. "Cucumber. I _hate_ cucumber." He held out the remnants of his sandwich. "You want the rest?"

Clary's stomach would probably burst from overfilling. "Sure." He handed it to her and she nibbled on it, wondering how anyone could dislike cucumber.

A tall young man slid onto the couch next to Jace. He was nearly the polar opposite in regards to hair and overall coloring, with straight, platinum blonde hair that brushed his shoulders and reflective dark brown eyes that were nearly black. Still, he and Jace looked almost identical facially. Sebastian Morgenstern, another heartthrob.

"Enjoying your conversation?" he asked, stealing a couple spicy fries from his fraternal twin's plate.

Jace replied, smirking, "Clary, here, and I are enjoying ourselves immensely."

"That's nice. I've been chatting up a couple people, myself."

Clary was finally done eating, so she stood up with her empty plate, intent on finding something to do with it.

"Hold on a second," Jace said, getting to his feet himself. "Happy birthday, Clary." Her heart fluttered, and he ducked in, lightly brushing his lips against her cheek.

Clary blushed more than she assumed she ever had before, mouth falling open. "Um... thanks."

"I would kiss you, too," interjected Sebastian, "but I barely know you, so it would probably be awkward." He added with a grin at Jace, "And besides, I consider myself to be a gentleman, so I try not to be too forward with young ladies. Unlike some people I know who kiss everyone they can get their hands on."

Jace rolled his light eyes. "My lips have a mind of their own." Clary laughed, and he looked at her. "That's a nice dress." Had he just called her beautiful?

"Clary! There you are." Simon came over and threw an arm over her shoulders, pecking her lips. "Enjoying your party?"

Clary set down her plate on a coffee table, and Jace sat back onto the couch next to his twin. "It's wonderful."

"That's great! Hey, you're wearing the shoes I got you last month."

"Yeah," Clary admitted. "Isabelle made me wear them."

"They look really nice on you," Simon smiled. Clary saw Sebastian staring at him curiously. Apparently, Simon noticed, too, as he felt the need to introduce himself. "I'm Simon."

Sebastian's face broke into a smile. "I am Sebastian, and you are Simon of the advertising department."

Simon tilted his head to the side, removing his arm from Clary. "What? Oh. I mean... what?"

Sebastian's smile looked slightly evil, at least in Clary's opinion. "I've noticed you around _Bane Inc._. Hard to forget those cute glasses."

Clary seethed with jealousy while Simon sputtered, "They're only red because I can see where I dropped them if they fall off, and-"

Clary interrupted him, accosting the light blonde Morgenstern boy. "Excuse me, Mr. Creeper, but Simon here is my BOYFRIEND. Stop hitting on him!" A thought occurred to her. "And I'm right here! Couldn't you at least flirt with him when I'm not around? Why are you doing this to me? It's my birthday! My party! My birthday p-"

Jace cut her off, gazing into her eyes simply and saying, "Clary, calm down."

All the wind rushed out of her lungs into a long sigh, and she forgot her train of thought. Clary turned back to Sebastian sheepishly. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me..."

Sebastian's next words were for Clary, even though he couldn't take his eyes off Simon. "It's okay. You're just a bit tipsy, probably, from the vodka in that Jell-O shot. All is forgiven."

Clary was infinitely grateful. "Thanks. I guess I'm just a bit possessive, is all." She looked to Simon so she could apologize properly, but her words died when she saw his expression.

Simon was staring back at Sebastian, with a befuddled yet curious look on his face. Clary saw Sebastian wink smoothly, and how Simon's face turned as red as his glasses. What was going on?

Clary decided to ask him. "Simon, what's wrong?"

Simon jerked his face abruptly in her direction, mortified and scandalized at the same time. "What? Nothing's wrong."

But Clary had seen him checking out Sebastian.

She pulled her boyfriend a few paces away and hissed in his ear, "Simon, I need you to tell me the truth. Are you gay?"

Clary surveyed his face, saw his eyes widen behind his bright glasses. "No, Clary," he whispered earnestly. "I love you. It's just a bit weird to have some male model showing real interest in me, alright?"

The ginger made a point of kissing him, pressing her lips against his for longer than necessary and twining her hands around his body like twisting snakes, one on the side of his face and one on his shoulder blade. Simon kissed her back, the usual gentle pressure that he exerted as his arms softly supported her.

It was nice.

Until Clary heard Jace's quiet laugh and whisper to his brother, "Well, you don't see that every day."

Clary broke away abruptly, still clutching at her boyfriend, worried that Jace was talking about her.

He was.

Clary fully detached herself from Simon, stomping away. She called over her shoulder, feeling disgruntled, "I'll see you later, Simon." Then, she stomped off, knees wobbling every few feet.

* * *

><p>Once Clary had flounced off, Simon turned on Jace. He was still a bit hot and bothered from kissing Clary, but Simon ran his hand through his hair and said, "You know, that was extremely rude and uncalled for."<p>

Jace's mouth twitched into a smirk for about a millisecond. "I'm sorry. Go complain to her now so that she can pat your head and console you."

"Jace-" Sebastian said warningly, but Simon cut him off.

"Why are you like that? First I saw you kissing _my girlfriend_ on the cheek, and now you insult me? What, do you have some vendetta that I should know about?"

"Simon," said Jace, a tad patronizingly, "I just met you."

"What he _means_," interjected Sebastian, "is that he is very sorry and is going to get us all a round of drinks. I want a White Russian."

Jace raised an eyebrow, which made him look like a painting of an angel come to life, perhaps one of a confused angel looking down on a sinner and not believing his eyes, but remaining secretly amused. Or something like that.

Even Simon had to admit that the guy was excessively handsome.

But not as much as Sebastian.

In Simon's opinion.

"Why don't you get your White Russian, if you're so adamant about it?" Jace was saying to his twin.

Sebastian looked at Jace, then a purposeful glance to Simon, then back to Jace.

"Ah. Well, what do you want?" the gold-haired model asked Simon.

"Um... an apple martini, I guess," Simon replied elegantly.

"I feel like a waiter." With that final note, Jace went up to the bar, leaving Sebastian and Simon relatively alone amongst the masses of party-goers.

Simon hesitantly sat down next to Sebastian, feeling awkward. "So... what was that about?"

Sebastian carefully studied the slightly younger man's face for a few moments, before saying, "Simon, I have a serious question for you. Look at me."

"I am."

Sebastian's voice turned to a husky, low whisper that made Simon shiver against his will. "Do you like what you see?"

Simon's lips parted, and his ears turned red.

Sebastian was gorgeous, even a straight man like Simon had to admit. His hair was pale blonde, nearly white, and touched his shoulders in the back, although it was a bit shorter in the front, going past his chin.

His face was classically handsome, finely-boned but still with underlying masculinity. But Simon was immediately drawn to his eyes, so dark and deep that they looked like the sky at midnight. Even the twinkle that gave them life and vitality seemed to hint at stars- minute constellations caught in the tenebrous nighttime sky.

Sebastian was wearing a white, button-down shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, which exposed his nicely-shaped forearms.

Simon just about had a heart attack when he saw his pants. Skin-tight and made of shiny black leather, they showed off the model's long, powerful legs-

Wait, Simon thought, I'm straight!

Or... was he?

Simon finally had an answer for Sebastian. He blushed at the thought and opened his mouth to say it.

* * *

><p>Clary, meanwhile, was bored and affronted. How dare Jace- <em>her<em> Jace- say something like that?

But what if he was jealous, and that was the reason behind it?

The thought cheered her up as she was bounding through the lounge. Somehow, Clary was better at walking in heels ever since her first drink. She wondered why...

Clary migrated over to the bar for another drink. She didn't know what to order, so she asked Eric to surprise her. He winked again and set to work on mixing her drink.

Not even a minute later, Jace came up on Clary's right and leaned on the bar. "Hey," he said in response to Clary's stare.

Was he still jealous? Clary didn't want to ask him, so instead, she said, "Hello."

Eric set a drink down in front of her. It looked like lemonade, but more creamy and orange-tinted, and with a paper umbrella sticking out of the top.

"What is this?" Clary asked.

The bartender advised with a wink, "Just drink it." Then he moved on to Jace. "What'll it be for you?"

Jace rattled off, counting on his fingers, "A large whiskey, a White Russian, and an apple martini."

"Coming right up," Eric pledged as Clary sipped inquisitively at her drink. It tasted like pineapples and coconuts, and the rush of hard liquor made her brain flip. Clary loved it.

Jace watched as she guzzled the drink. "Is that a piña colada?"

"I don't know," Clary replied in all honesty. "Is it?"

"Looks like it. I don't fancy them, myself."

Clary was irritated. Didn't he like _anything_ that she did?

Eric laid Jace's ordered drinks out on the bar. Three total: one huge, manly-looking, gold-colored drink, one that looked like watery milk with ice in it, and the same kind of drink that Simon had earlier.

"Thanks," Jace told the bartender, taking away the beverages. He held the big one in one hand and the smaller two in the other with ease. Clary was fascinated by those hands, large enough to hold two full-sized alcoholic beverages in one. She wanted those hands to roam her back as hers explored his bare, muscled chest...

Clary set the empty glass that had once held her piña colada back onto the counter. It did no good to be fantasizing about things that could never happen. All it could possibly do was make her upset.

She lunged around the lounge, finding it hard to do so because more people had arrived. This really was a nice party. She had to thank Isabelle again!

Clary immediately spotted a tall figure with its back turned to her, long and straight black hair rippling down, smooth and luminous.

"ISABELLE!" the ginger screeched, ambushing the figure and throwing her arms around it.

It twisted out of her grasp. "I am certainly not your... _Isabelle_." It was a young man, cold disdain on his face and in his heavily-accented voice. There was something about that indefinite accent, coupled with the sharp planes of his face, that highly suggested that he wasn't American.

A _foreign_ man...

His features swam into focus, and Clary instantly felt stupid for her mistake. Sure, he had long black hair and pale skin, but, then again, so did a lot of people.

Clary recognized him, finally. "You're Meliorn," she said in amazement.

The corners of his mouth tilted up into a half-mocking leer. "Indeed I am."

Meliorn was something like a living legend in the modeling industry. He actually _was_ foreign, but no one knew quite how foreign he _was_. Meliorn never released his home country, or even his last name. It made him mysterious, Clary decided, and very attractive.

Tall and thin, Meliorn was a great study in partial androgyny. He looked slightly like a girl (thus Clary's error) but had a unique and understated masculinity that was all his own.

He had one of those unforgettable faces, all sharp angles and cheekbones and pillowy lips. His defining feature was his nose, a rather prominent one with a bit of an upturned bulb on the end. He was so ethereal, so inhuman, so _interesting_ up close that Clary was taken aback.

She had seen his loping, even gait countless times on the runways of _Seelie QUEEN_ and in the ads thereof. Until recently, that's where he worked. But Silarial Seelie, his former boss, had struck up a deal that traded him to work for _Bane Inc._ instead. Magnus had even designed a line of faerie-inspired clothes for both genders, just because Meliorn inspired him to.

He was enchantingly stunning. Clary was at a loss for words.

"Have something to say, my beauty?" Meliorn's voice was slow and bass-toned, but his _accent!_ Oh, his _accent!_

It automatically made him that much sexier.

And, therefore, almost to Jace standards.

Almost.

But not quite.

Whatever, Clary thought, transfixed on Meliorn's full lips. She wanted to kiss him, to sample if they were as soft as they looked.

She nearly did, leaning forward, but her knees wobbled, which caused her to start falling over.

Meliorn's lightly muscled arms caught her, snaking around her waist like eels. Clary blushed and, avoiding his forest green gaze, caught sight of a strange tattoo that wrapped around the whole length of his left arm. It was a few shades darker than his deep emerald eyes, the pattern being vines and leaves. It was a curious thing, starting underneath his black, sleeveless shirt and ending coiled around his middle finger like a ring.

It was unadulterated beauty and rarity and unearthliness all in one, like Meliorn.

He chuckled lowly. "I see you like my tattoo."

Clary batted her eyelashes involuntarily. What was happening to her? "Yeah, it's really hot."

His lips caressed his words, like he was savoring them (or speaking a foreign language, which he coincidentally was). "You think I... how you say... _hot_, yes?"

"Definitely," Clary exhaled. An attractive man was giving her the time of day and, better yet, he was _foreign_.

Simon's glasses were foreign, too. He'd had them custom-made in Italy.

Simon.

_Boyfriend_ Simon.

Clary snapped out of her reverie as the thought of him descended on her mind like a lead weight. She shouldn't be fantasizing about all these sexy models. She had a boyfriend who loved her.

Clary's mouth dropped open as she grappled for words. None came to mind. She closed her mouth, and inspiration finally struck. "I'm sorry, Meliorn, but I can't do this."

There was no sign that he even heard her. Most guys would probably get upset, but Meliorn was still smiling, amused at her. Only three words escaped from his lips, low and tantalizing. "Is that so?"

"Yes, that is so," Clary retorted. "I can't flirt with you. I have a _boyfriend_."

"Do you?" Meliorn's voice was slightly condescending, and his leer was still in place. "Well, that _is_ a travesty."

Confusion swept over the ginger. What did he mean, a 'travesty'? Did that mean something in his native language?

She masked her bafflement, replacing it with crisp indignation. "I don't care. I don't speak foreign. I'm out of here."

Before the tall youth could deign her with a response, Clary marched back to the bar, sitting down next to a Hispanic young man who was giving his order to Eric.

"I'll take a Bloody Mary," he delivered in a smooth Spanish accent (was _he_ foreign, too?), "but please, hold the Mary." He flashed a grin, which exposed bright white teeth.

"Tee-hee," Eric said sarcastically. "Anything else, Mr. Cullen?"

The boy hissed, but went back to talking almost immediately. "That will be all, _chico_."

Clary didn't speak Spanish, but she knew from television that it meant 'boy'. That seemed hypocritical, since the Hispanic guy looked about sixteen. But he was ordering alcoholic beverages, so he had to be at least twenty-one. Hopefully, at least.

"Right-o." Eric was unenthusiastic, even as he started to mix the drink.

Clary studied the boy sitting next to her. It was unfair that everyone at her party was attractive except her. This guest had curly black hair and tanned skin, and was wearing a very gauzy white shirt with black pants.

He caught her gaze, and raised an eyebrow. Clary was jealous- she had always wanted to be able to do that! "Yes?"

Clary inquired without hesitation, "Are you Mexican?" After Meliorn, she had to be on-edge around foreign types, even if they were sexy.

He looked affronted. Oops, Clary thought. "No. I am Spanish, _chica_."

"Same diff," Clary claimed, flailing one of her arms. How long did it take for Eric to made a Bloody Mary? She wanted another alcoholic drink and NOW.

Apparently, she wouldn't have to wait for long. "Your Bloody Mary, Count Dracula." But Eric kept it in his hand. Just when it looked like he was going to set it down and the boy's hand darted out to receive it, Eric pulled it away with a calculating look on his face. "Wait just one cotton-picking minute. Where's your ID?"

The Spanish youth hissed again, but pulled a wallet out of his back pocket and laid a driver's license on the table.

"Raphael Cortes," read Eric uninterestedly. Then, his eyebrows shot up. "Holy _shit_. You're twenty-three?" The boy, Raphael, grinned maliciously and nodded. "is this a fake ID?"

"Does it look like a fake ID?" Raphael said, tugging down his own shirt to reveal a small patch of black chest hair.

"Fine. Here's your Bloody Mary." Once Raphael left with his drink, Eric turned to Clary. "Back again, Miss Birthday?" That's a strange nickname, Clary thought. "And so soon? I don't want you to get drunk at your own party. Crazy things can happen to the inebriated, sweetheart."

Clary held up a hand to silence him. "I don't care. Give me something alcoholic."

"Anything?" Eric confirmed doubtfully.

"Just get me something already!" Clary had a hard life. People made fun of her when she was getting affectionate with her boyfriend, then sexy models tried to make her cheat on him, and now the _bartender_ wasn't _cooperating_!

Eric groaned, "Jeez, Louise," and, a few minutes later, handed her what looked like chocolate syrup in a martini glass. "I've gotten you a Black Forest martini. Brighten up." He added as a darker afterthought, "And if you get drunk, it's not my fault."

Clary practically gulped it down, finding that she really enjoyed it.

Then Isabelle sat down next to her. "Well, if it isn't the girl who was afraid to have a Jell-O shot."

Clary wiped off her mouth and set her glass down sheepishly. "Hey, Izzy."

Isabelle told Eric, ignoring the ginger, "I want a Sex on the Beach."

He waggled his eyebrows and winked. "Any time you _want_, babe."

Clary noticed that Isabelle looked coldly disgusted. "Like I would ever have sex with _you_. Fetch me my drink, and maybe I'll consider it."

He bowed from behind the bar table, pink-spiked hair brushing the edge of it. "As you wish, my lady."

Isabelle rolled her dark eyes, but she looked pleased.

Clary was excited from her martini and felt like sharing her joy with the world... or at least the other guests at her party. "Well, see you later," she told her friend. "I'm going to get up and mingle."

"Have fun mingling," Isabelle said distractedly, picking at her perfectly manicured fingernails.

Clary scrambled to her feet and started walking, finding it increasingly easy to walk in heels. She was bouncing past the door when she was stopped by someone grabbing her shoulders and turning her around to face them.

Clary recognized the girl opposite her, and also the two flanking her. "Maia! Hey! Oh, and hi, Aline. Kaelie."

"Clary!" Maia said, releasing her shoulders. "You looked like you were about to run into someone. Are you alright?"

Clary flushed. "Yeah, I'm fine. Are you enjoying my party?"

Aline said with a wry smile, "We just walked in a couple seconds ago."

"Oh. Right." Clary trailed off awkwardly, staring at the three girls because she didn't know what else to do.

Maia was a model notorious for being tomboy. She was blessed with great bone structure for modeling, high cheekbones and huge, dark eyes. Her skin was the color of honey, and her wildly curly hair of buttered toast. It was obvious that she had dressed herself, as she was wearing a simple, mid-thigh length white-and-blue striped tank top dress and two-inch blue heels. Clary thought it was nice that Magnus didn't only hire stick-thin models, but also curvier girls like Maia.

Aline fit the first category. Bony an androgynous, it usually looked like a gust of wind could blow her over. Aline had the fascinating face of a half-Asian, with silky black hair and a small, pointy chin. Normally, she would have been around 5'6", but her stilettos rocketed her to 5'10". Her hair was pulled into a severe bun, and she was made up in hefty fake eyelashes and bright pink lipstick.

Aline Penhallow was known to 'compete' with Isabelle in everything (especially modeling), and tonight was no exception. She had probably assumed that Isabelle would go for a black lace dress, which she did, incidentally, so Aline went the opposite route. Aline's was ice blue and strapless, knee-length and sparkly. It had a fitted, corset-like bodice that opened into a very poofy skirt, especially for one of its length. Layers of tulle poked out from underneath, gauzy and white.

She looked very pretty, and so did Maia. Clary felt a now-familiar wave of jealousy flare up. It was no wonder that they were best friends and roommates, even though they had a brief falling-out when Maia 'came out of the closet' as a lesbian. But that had been ages ago, and they were back to the way things had been. Aline was even dating someone, yet another model for _Bane Inc._ by the name of Elliott Vompierre.

Kaelie lived in their same apartment complex, a floor above the other girls. She was a wannabe actress, and as such, assumed that it meant that she was naturally hideous. Because of that 'fact', she'd morphed her rather obtrusive nose into a small and dainty one, got her lips and chest pumped with silicone to near-bursting proportions, dyed her hair an audacious shade of blonde, and masked her eyes under turquoise contacts and layers of makeup. She was still pretty, but looked more like an alien than anything. She was clad in an extremely tight, short, silver-tinted scrap of vinyl that probably qualified as a shirt (but she wore it as a dress, anyway), fishnet stockings, and knee-high boots with spiked heels.

And yet, she still looked sexy. It was no wonder that she had snagged a high-profile, much older, up-and-coming musician of a boyfriend, "Freaky Pete" Brewer. He was a rapper with a growing fan base, because no one can rap like middle-aged white men, right?

Right, thought Clary. Her eyes were immediately drawn to Kaelie's bulbous chest, and she felt like stomping around and screaming. She knew that the actress was surgically altered, but Clary was as flat as an ironing board! It made her feel self-conscious, like everyone would start staring at her nearly nonexistent chest.

She covered it up with a tight-lipped smile, looking from girl to girl to girl, and back again. "I'm glad that you came to my party." Then, for whatever reason, Clary started giggling. Uncontrollably so.

"Clary?" Maia asked tentatively over her small friend's raucous chortling. "Are you alright?"

That made the ginger-haired intern laugh even harder. Everything was just so funny suddenly!

Kaelie's eyes narrowed. "Are you drunk?"

Clary stopped immediately, pouting. "No. I've only had three drinks."

"Clary-" Aline started to admonish exasperatedly.

She was interrupted by Isabelle's arrival. Clary thought, That Isabelle really _is_ stalking me, isn't she?

"So," Isabelle began in her usual, purr-like voice, "what's going on over here?"

"Clary's drunk," Kaelie said bluntly.

Clary's mouth fell open, and she put her hands on her hips, offended. "I am _not_," she proclaimed emphatically. With that sudden movement, her legs wobbled, and she swayed in place. "Whoa. That was mondo weird." Her own word choice made her giggle delicately. Since when was she that funny?

Isabelle said flatly, "Yeah, you're drunk. Whatever, it's cool. Ready for cake?"

Clary leaped happily into the air and twirled around, laughing all the way. "Cake! Cake!" she trilled in a singsong voice. "Of _course_ I'm ready for cake, Izzy-pie! Get it? Izzy-pie? And we're talking about _cake_?" Clary laughed exuberantly until she fell over onto Isabelle. Naturally, that made her giggle even more.

Isabelle's iron grip steadied her. "Clarissa Fray. Calm the fuck down or I'll slap you. And I'll never give you your specially-made cake, either."

The ginger gasped like a child on Christmas morning. "Special cake?" she asked excitedly.

Her friend nodded gravely. "Yes. Special cake."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Clary chirped, taking a step back and flailing her arms.

Isabelle groaned, but she was still smiling. "Fine." She nodded goodbye to the now-forgotten girls that Clary had been having a stilted conversation with not even five minutes before. "See you later, Maia. Kaelie. Bitch," she finished, directed at Aline.

"Whore," nodded the Asian in an equally offensive parting. So it looked like their feud was still at a fever pitch, which was not altogether unexpected.

Maia waved her goodbye, and it looked like Kaelie had already moved on to flirt with Raphael, who didn't seem interested.

With that, Isabelle directed Clary over to a table on the right side of the room, on top of which was the most impressive cake that Clary had ever seen.

It was a tiered cupcake tower!

Most of them looked like chocolate cupcakes, but the five at the top made Clary's heart soar. Could they be her favorite flavor combination...?

She would have to wait and find out.

A waiter and waitress appeared, sticking a candle into each of the top twenty-one cupcakes. As they were lighting them, Isabelle made an announcement for everyone to gather around to sing "Happy Birthday" to Clary. The ginger barely noticed the resulting commotion, her emerald green gaze plastered solely on her cake.

She swam back to reality as everyone around her broke into off-key, off-tempo song: "_Happy birthday to you; happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear CLAAAAAAARYYYYYY; happy birthdaaaay tooooooooo YOOOOOOOOOOOU!"_

Clary excitedly tried to blow out the candles, but it ended up taking several breaths to do so.

Meanwhile, Eric took up singing, everyone else joining in, "_What's your boyfriend's first name?"_

"SIMON!" called someone.

"_What's your boyfriend's first name?_"

"SIMON!"

Another person added, "Cha-cha-cha!"

"What's_ your BOOOOOY-FRIEEEEEEEND'S first NAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAME-"_

"SIMON!"

"Cha-cha-cha!"

"_What's your boooooooooy-frieeeeeeeeeend's FIIIIIIIIIIRST NAAAAAAAAAAME!"_

"SIMON!"

"CHA-CHA-CHA!"

Everyone erupted into cheers, clapping and wolf-whistling torrentially. Once they all settled down, the mob descended on the cake tower.

Clary was given all five of her special cupcakes, so, once she received her platter, she skipped over to a couch to sit down.

Biting into a cupcake, Clary was immediately filled with extreme joy. It _was_ her favorite kind! Lemon-flavored cake with vanilla frosting and, even better, kiwi filling. It really _was _turning out to be the best birthday party ever.

Clary easily finished off her first cupcake and was biting into the second when Aline and Maia sat down next to her.

She watched, mouth full and chewing thoughtfully, as Aline took a bite of a chocolate cupcake. The skeletal half-Asian swallowed, then pushed her plate away. "I'm full. I can't eat any more," she vowed.

Clary looked down at her own plate. She was already done with the third, and was about to eat the fourth. How could Aline not even finish one?

Clary felt gigantic. It didn't help that her fancy dress made her look slightly fat in the first place.

Either way, she finished off the other two cupcakes and that was the end of that.

After everyone finished dessert and the alcohol was starting to kick in, the party dissolved into something that resembled a rave, pounding music and flashing strobe lights and writhing bodies churning against one another on the dance floor. The drinks from the open bar were flowing, and it even looked like Eric had a few too many.

Clary sampled more alcohol, trying a Manhattan and a Mudslide and a margarita and sips from other people's drinks, and she was having the time of her life.

She even let go her inhibitions about dancing, partying it up on the dance floor with her closest friends and a couple others. All of her favorite songs were playing, everything from the Beatles' version of "Long Tall Sally" to the Jefferson Airplane trippy chant "White Rabbit".

At first, Clary only danced with Simon, but Sebastian eventually pulled him away. Clary kept dancing on her own, and a circle of clapping people formed around her as she swayed and stomped and lunged, twisting her arms madly. There was no pattern to her dance, but soon enough, she had everyone chanting, "Cla-RY! Cla-RY!" She couldn't help it; whenever techno music (as was currently playing) was on, she automatically started dancing.

The song faded into the Doors' hit "Break On Through (To the Other Side)", and Clary was seized by a strange desire. Breathing heavily from her solo, she approached Isabelle and chirped, "Dance with me!"

Isabelle tossed her black hair and laughed, taking Clary's outstretched hand. "Fine!"

The short ginger had never danced so sexually provocative with a woman as she was now, but Clary kind of enjoyed it. She liked dancing with Isabelle, liked the sheen of sweat and the trance-like movement. Isabelle seemed to be enjoying herself too as her hips swayed to the beat.

When the song was fading out, both girls stopped dancing and hugged tightly. Isabelle stepped back and grabbed both sides of Clary's face, planting a kiss on her forehead.

Clary laughed. "Thanks for the dance, Iz."

"No prob," Isabelle said, waving a flippant hand. "It was strangely not awkward, especially since you're like my long-lost ginger sister."

Clary was touched. "You see me as your sister?"

But her question went unanswered. Isabelle was gawking at something behind Clary, and the intern was confused. It usually took a lot to surprise Isabelle. What was going on?

Clary turned around, and her jaw dropped.

It was Simon- _her_ Simon- passionately making out with Sebastian in the middle of the dance floor. But... Clary was shockingly blasé at the betrayal, for whatever reason. It was really hot, actually. Why wasn't he ever that hot with her?

"Oh my..." Clary started, not knowing quite how to finish. She said the first thing that came to mind. "Muhammad."

"'Oh my Muhammad'?" Isabelle echoed, with a strange look on her face. "Where the hell did you get that from?"

Clary decided that she wanted the kind of passion that Simon and Sebastian were sharing. "I'll see you later, Izzy," she said absent-mindedly, starting to wander around. Who could fulfill it for her?

Clary went in search of that passion, dancing with anyone she could get her hands on. Maybe she wasn't in her right mind, but the alcohol was to blame for that. Either way, it was her party and she was _going_ to enjoy herself.

The hours flew by and the crowd thinned out majorly, the mood of those remaining getting steamier and steamier. Someone, no one remembered who, suggested that they should all check out the storage room in the back of the lounge and try body shots on each other. Eric enthusiastically went to mix them, and when he came back, everyone who was still present urged him to join in.

Body shots were taken, and everything went from fuzzy to nebulous almost immediately, until it seemed like everything was enveloped in mist. No one knew which way was which anymore; all they understood was that they all wanted passion as much as Clary did.

The only ones who opted out of body shots were Magnus and Alec. They quietly stayed in the background, sipping their red wine and strawberry daiquiri, respectively.

Jace's lips were showing off their mind of their own, kissing _everyone_- even the boys, who didn't seem to mind one bit. It was his crazed, brief smooch of Alec that prompted the victim and his boyfriend to leave. If Jace was going crazy, who wasn't?

After the happy couple left, things rose to an even more desire-induced fever, everyone pairing off and taking the 'next step' with someone, even if they barely knew them.

And Clary felt like an adult, finally, and whole that night, more whole than she had ever felt before as passion and lust and beauty exploded around her in the back room of a lounge on her twenty-first birthday.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Wow, that was long! How was it? Is it too weird? What do you think? REVIEW!**


	3. Mortal Embarrassment

**A/N: Sorry, everyone for the mis-post!**

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Three: Mortal Embarrassment<em>

A bar of midday sunlight filtered through a narrow window at the top of a wall, casting its radiance onto the sleeping face of Clary Fray.

Her mouth was open in catatonic bliss as dreams circulated through her mind, slight drool being cast onto her pillow.

She was lying spread-eagle on a huge bed in the storage room, sheets mussed up greatly and blanket missing.

Lying a foot or so to the left, on the floor, was Meliorn, cocooned in the blankets like a hatching butterfly. His face was covered, and the only criterion that defined the figure as Meliorn was his hair, sticking all around him.

To the right of the enormous bed was a couch, upon which Jace was sprawled, one leg over the side and the other on the back. His torso and face had lipstick stains all over them, in every shade of lipstick that the girls had been wearing the night before: dark red, burgundy, pink, and fire-engine. On the other side of the couch several feet from Jace lay Kaelie, perched on the top edge next to the wall like a cat mixed with a dead soldier, plastic surgery scars exposed for all to see.

Raphael was on the floor, about halfway between the couch and bed in the cramped room, marooned amidst a pile of cast-off clothing, his leg thrown over some of it.

At the foot of the bed was a coffee table, Aline on its surface, face-down with some of her head hanging off and pointed at Maia, who was flopped half-underneath the coffee table, her entire torso and head uncovered and facing the slowly rotating ceiling fan, Clary's dress suspended from it.

There was a second couch in the room, in the corner opposite from the former. Nearest to the coffee table was Eric, unclothed except for his brown bow-tie, with his legs bent to rest on the couch. Otherwise, he was lying on the floor.

Isabelle looked like she had simply fallen asleep while sitting down, her head rolling onto her shoulder next to a pair of yellow panties. Strangely, she was still wearing her stilettos.

In the corner between the two couches was an egg chair, on top of which were Sebastian and Simon.

Sebastian's eyelids fluttered open suddenly, and the first thing he registered was the sleeping body of Simon, draped across him like a blanket. Sebastian turned his gaze to see Simon's head flopped on his own shoulder. A sleepy smile worked its way across the Morgenstern's face, although his recollection of the night before was fuzzy. He tightened his grip on Simon's back with a contented sigh, shifted his weight, and became aware of a stabbing pain in his back.

Mindful of Simon, Sebastian carefully wiggled around until he could remove the offending object. Unearthing it, he saw a strappy, burgundy, four-inch high heel. Clary...?

He set it down on the ground next to him, too exhausted to care and discovering a pounding headache. Aw, shit, he thought, I probably have one hell of a hangover.

There was an abrupt shift in his arms, and he heard a quiet yawn against his neck. Simon was awake.

Simon opened his eyes. He was being held tightly by someone, and he yawned to shake off his early-morning drowsiness. Then, it hit him.

Why was he in someone's arms?

Simon rolled over until he was sitting on the person's lap- why were they naked?- and panic rose in him. His vision was incredibly blurry- where were his glasses?- but he could make out pale blonde hair and dark eyes. Simon blindly grabbed at both sides of the person's face and leaned forward to see more clearly, and whoever it was chuckled, the just-woken-up quality not quite out of his voice.

Sebastian...

Simon's cheeks darkened as one of his last coherent memories from the night before jumped into his consciousness...

* * *

><p><em>"Simon, let's dance," Sebastian purred, dragging him out of Clary's grip. The couple had been dancing, or what passed for it these days, anyway. Simon was mainly swaying back and forth while Clary bumped her hips against him and gyrated to the music, albeit off-beat.<em>

_Sebastian seemed to have come out of nowhere, like he had simply appeared between one pulse of strobe light and the next, sprung into being amid the many sweaty young adults while they vibrated as one being._

_"O-okay," Simon said uncertainly, the older boy dragging him off by the hand. He glanced back at Clary, expecting her to make a fuss, but she carried on with her pelvic thrusts as if nothing had changed. "Where are we going?"_

_"Here," Sebastian said simply, halting in a small clearing, although party-goers surrounded them on all sides. "Now, shall we dance?"_

_"Alright," Simon replied, clearing his throat and attempting to calm his nerves. "Let's dance, then."_

_Sebastian grinned like only a Morgenstern could. "Alright, then."_

_And so they began to dance, but it was no dance like Simon had ever danced before. Sebastian pulled him close until they were touching,swaying vaguely with no care for music or tempo._

_The blonde's hands were gripping Simon's hips tightly, and Simon, not knowing what to do with his own hands, rested them on Sebastian's chest. He could feel the muscles lurking under his thin shirt, which was a strange and new experience to Simon, but not an unpleasant one._

_Sebastian awakened in him a new kind of desire that he had never felt before, a desire that prompted Simon to stop awkwardly staring at the other young man. His eyes shut as gently as a baby falling asleep, and he leaned forward only three inches to close the distance between their lips._

* * *

><p>Horror spread into Simon's mind, mortifying him deeply. Had he, a straight man, actually <em>kissed<em> Sebastian the night before?

Well, obviously, he thought, since you're in this current... erm... _position_.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered frantically to Sebastian, finishing in a deep yawn.

"Sorry for what?" Just like the night before, his grin was tantalizing and made Simon want to taste his lips again.

That was a dangerous thought, and would only increase the thunderstorm he was going to get from Clary. Clary... "You know... what happened last night?" Simon surreptitiously slid off Sebastian's lap, finding room to sit next to him on the oversized egg chair. But he was still naked!

Panic mixing in with his mortified horror, Simon hysterically searched among the blurs of color to find something to cover himself with.

But first he needed his glasses!

He saw a familiar cloud of bright red not far away, so he lunged forward to grab it, accidentally falling off the egg chair in the process.

The resultant thump awoke a certain ginger sprawled across the bed, and Clary blearily sat up, her eyes flying open to reveal a small room filled with naked, mostly asleep guests from her party the night before.

Looking down, Clary realized that she, too, was unclothed.

Her shrieking scream pierced the afternoon air, causing everyone else to wake up with miscellaneous groans and curses.

"God damn it... what is that _noise_?"

"_Uuuuuuuuuugh_..."

"Make it stop!"

"Someone kill whoever the fuck is making that sound!"

"Ay carumba!"

"CAN IT NOW! I HAVE A HANGOVER!"

"I am going to murder whoever is screaming."

"No, Mom- give me five more minutes."

"JUST SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!" Simon yelled, having put on his glasses. He seized a dress- Isabelle's, by the looks of it- off the ground and wrapped it around his waist like a towel. "Screaming like that isn't going to do anything for our hangovers, so stop acting like a bunch of idiots."

"But what happened last night?" Clary implored, forgetting her nudity and flailing her arms.

"Who cares?" grumbled Eric. "Let's all go back to sleep."

Aline seemed distracted, staring down at her best friend. "Huh," she said sleepily. "Maia, I've never realized it, but... you have really great breasts."

Maia grinned up at her, blinking back exhaustion to see the hickeys on Aline's body. "Thanks. You're pretty hot, yourself." This was wonderful if the two had hooked up; Maia had had a crush on Aline for years, and she could tell that the tiny model was a closeted bisexual.

"Hey," interrupted Simon. "This is no time to flirt! We need to figure out what hap- HOLY SHIT! OW!" Simon had tried to take a few steps, and was now clutching his buttocks. "Why does my ass hurt?"

Everyone started snickering at the obvious implications of his "problem".

"What?" Simon insisted, hands firmly planted on his backside. "Why the hell does my ass hurt?"

Isabelle rolled her eyes, seemingly uninterested at the prospect of being naked in front of everyone. "It means some guy fucked you last night."

Simon's ears dramatically changed from their usual peachy tan to a vivid shade of crimson. "W-what?" he stammered, giving Sebastian a wild-eyed look.

Sebastian quirked a half smile as the room erupted in laughter. "Guilty as charged," he admitted shamelessly, although he _did_ wish that he could recall the previous night better.

Simon's hands fell limply to his sides, and his expression soured. "Well, this sucks." He sank onto the floor, bringing his knees up to his chest. Now that the embarrassing concept had been brought up, maybe he _did_ remember something else...

* * *

><p><em>Simon felt better than he ever had before; that was one of the few things he was aware of. Through the dim lighting, he could make out a pale beacon before him, devouring his lips and utterly driving him mad with desire.<em>

_He was propped up on the pale figure's- Sebastian's?- lap as things happened to his body that had never happened before._

_But it wasn't just the two of them..._

_Whereas Sebastian's sizable hands were roaming Simon's body from his waist to his thighs, he was vaguely aware of a second, smaller set moving up his back and shoulder blades, hot kisses being planted along his neck while Sebastian ravaged his mouth..._

* * *

><p>The memory went dim, and Simon was struck with a sudden- and extremely embarrassed- fervor. "Hold on. Who here has small hands?"<p>

It was bad enough that he lost his virginity to _Sebastian_ of all people, but a threesome, too? Who was the final person?

"Who cares?" groaned Eric. "Let's get back to sleepy-time."

"No, we're staying _awake_," Kaelie corrected with a sniff. "And I hope I didn't sleep with _you_. You're not even all that attractive." She turned to Jace, who was staring bemusedly at the wall near him. "You, on the other hand, I wouldn't mind one bit."

"You hypocrite," Eric countered, "talking about my sex appeal. How old's your boyfriend, anyway? How old's that Freaky Pete? Sixty?"

As their inane banter continued, Jace kept staring at the wall. Or, more accurately, a shelf on said wall.

It was stationed halfway up the wall above the couch, three shelves full of silly and sundry clutter- knickknacks, memorabilia, that sort of thing. But what he was staring at was on the highest shelf, a strange statuette of what appeared to be the Greek goddess Aphrodite. And, in an ironic twist of fate, a neon green bra strap was looped around it, small bra attached. It was perfectly plausible that he could have tossed it over his head in a fit of passion. Whose was it, anyway?

He stood up on the couch abruptly, retrieving the bewildering piece of feminine clothing. Interrupting Kaelie and Eric's argument, he asked everyone, brandishing the bra like a sword, "Whose is this?" If it belonged, somehow, to one of the men, he was probably going to kill someone.

Clary gasped, eyes going frighteningly wide as her face turned... excited? "It's mine," she declared proudly.

Jace hopped off the couch, handing it to her for confirmation. It took her a couple seconds to react, though, since she was oddly staring at his lower body. Then again, he was naked and highly attractive. "Are you sure?"

Had he slept with the ginger intern...?

Clary nodded rapidly, barely concealing an exultant grin. "Oh, yeah, it's definitely mine. Deff."

Jace struggled to remember the night before.

* * *

><p><em>He was drunk, that was for sure, and that was impressive in itself because it took a lot of alcohol to make Jace Wayland drunk. But it wasn't an ordinary sort of inebriation, because he wasn't quite woozy enough. He was woozy, definitely, but there was a hefty undercurrent of pure zen that he was unaccustomed to in such situations. What was going on?<em>

_He was sleeping with some girl, and a vocal one at that. That was normal enough, except for the fact that he was too out of it to take notice of who she was..._

* * *

><p>Assuming that the girl was Clary probably wouldn't be far off...<p>

Simultaneously, Clary was trying not to do a touchdown dance. Had she slept with Jace? She squealed mentally, trying not to look too happy.

"Just a minute," Isabelle said, quizzical expression on her face. "Clare-bear, are these yours?" Almost mockingly, she dangled a pair of yellow plaid-patterned panties in the air. "I would ask the rest of you girls, but I think only Clary would wear _these_."

Clary blushed as vibrantly as her hair while her mouth dropped open. "Jesus, Izzy, where'd you find those?"

"Right next to my head when I woke up."

Isabelle was mainly amused at her new discovery. She didn't know why she awoke to the sight of Clary's underwear, but it didn't really matter.

Her manicured brows furrowed as she tried to remember who she slept with...

* * *

><p><em>The room was dark, and she felt dizzy.<em>

* * *

><p>Nope. She didn't remember <em>anything<em>. "Damn it," she muttered to herself.

The last time that Isabelle had actually blacked out before and during a hookup had been with some strange man named Alaric, and that was only because their hookup started with recreational drug use. She wondered...

Maia's thoughts were similarly revolving around who she had had sex with the previous night. She couldn't form any conscious memories, but she knew that she had been making out with someone on top of the coffee table when someone else fell backwards over her back and then rolled off onto the floor, yet another person following them. Or was that only a dream?

Eric said, breaking the awkward silence circulating the room, "So... I don't remember anything after we all started having body shots."

"I remember something a bit more... _concrete_," Simon said petulantly, wrinkling his nose.

Jace offered, "I know I hooked up with a girl." Probably Clary, he added mentally.

Everyone started talking at once, all about their vague memories or lack thereof or how embarrassing the whole situation was.

"EVERYBODY, SHUT THE HELL UP," interrupted Isabelle, pacing back and forth across the small room. "Thank you. We need to figure out what happened with all of us, and more importantly, why none of us can really remember anything. From this point on, no one can talk unless they raise their hand. Got it?"

The others in the room nodded. While they were nodding, something caught Aline's attention. Jumping off the coffee table and retrieving a shiny object from the floor, she said, "Hey, I w-"

"Bitch," Isabelle admonished, "raise your hand first."

Aline shot her a dark look, but grudgingly raised the hand not holding her discovery.

"Now you may speak," Isabelle smirked.

"Thank you, _whore_," Aline said, excitement becoming apparent in the rest of her statement, "but whose cell phone is this?"

In her hand was a small, metallic silver flip phone.

"Hey, give me back my phone," Eric whined.

Clary interjected, "But maybe there's evidence on it!" The ginger really _had_ learned a lot from her childhood video game, 'FBI Barbie'.

Aline nodded, and, opening the phone, was greeted with a background of what appeared to be a book expelling words. "The hell is with the background?"

Eric leaped over in all his nudity and grabbed it from her. "It's a dictionary throwing up words. And, it's none of your damn business! M-Y-O-B!" Either way, he brought up his photo gallery. "Maybe there are some pictures." All of a sudden, his expression changed. "Great Scott."

"What is it?" Simon asked, everyone crowding around apprehensively to get a glance of the cell phone screen.

"Oh my..." said Sebastian, for once nearly at a loss for words. "Well, then." he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Next picture?"

"No!" objected Maia. "I haven't se- Oh."

"What is it?" Simon worried, ducking in front of the mass of naked bodies to better see the screen. "Oh my God, DELETE IT!" With a frenzied lunge, he attempted to wrestle the phone from Eric's hands.

Eric pulled out of the way. "No. It's kind of interesting."

Aline cocked her head to the side, and asked, "Can I see it?"

"Sure."

After a quick passover of the cellular phone, Aline tilted her face down to see the picture. Instantaneously, she was caught by a wave of Yaoi Fangirl Syndrome, also known in some circles as Y.F.S.

It was a picture of Sebastian and Simon, taken some time the night before. The older boy had Simon pinned down on a couch in the lounge area, and the two were practically eating each other's faces.

Aline touched her nose a few times. "Am I bleeding?" she asked Kaelie, sniffling a bit. Four or so drops of blood trailed down through her nostrils.

"Did you seriously just get a nosebleed from seeing a picture of two guys making out?" clarified Kaelie, raising an eyebrow.

Aline cupped one hand over her own nose, handing the phone back to Eric. "I have problems, okay?"

Simon was sulking because of the offensive photograph, so he plopped down on a couch and pouted. "Eric, can you please erase that picture?"

Instead, Eric went to the next one.

Maia looked speculatively at Eric. "Do you have a fetish for taking pictures of people when they make out?"

Simon wailed, "It's not me again, is it?"

"No," the curvy model replied. "It's Meliorn and Raphael."

"_WHAT?_" shrieked a couple people who had yet to see the new picture.

Attention shifted to Raphael, who was standing at the back of the group with his hands up in the typical gesture of surrender. "What can I say? I like the chicas and chicos."

From him, they turned to Meliorn, still enveloped in the blanket at the foot of the bed. Had he moved at all?

"Meliorn?" asked Isabelle.

He didn't move.

Was he even _alive_...?

Meliorn was alive, not that any of them would know better. He was just tired, and didn't think that any of them deserved his time. Well, except that cute ginger and her tall, black-haired friend, maybe.

He was riding the aftereffects of a drug use like he usually was at this point on a Saturday afternoon. Accompanying his post-trip was the usual lack of actual memories...

* * *

><p><em>Meliorn was chilling in the back room of the lounge, crossing his arms and wearing his sullen-face as he slouched against the wall.<em>

_All around him, drunken fools were messing around, and Eric was setting up tray after tray of shots. According to the group's wishes, they would be body shots._

_"Alright, everyone," he said loudly, over-talking the room's occupants. Eric swayed on the spot for a second, but laughed and resumed speaking soon after. "It's time for body shots!"_

_The guests- Clary, Isabelle, Jace, Simon, Sebastian, Maia, Aline, Kaelie, and Raphael- erupted into cheers._

_"But who's going to have the honor of going first?" drawled Jace, a tipsy smirk playing at the lips. So golden-boy had too much whiskey, Meliorn thought._

_Then the foreign man decided, This party is lame. I need to do something to spice this thing up, or I'll perish, and the cause of my death will be boredom._

_Still making himself wear his sullen-face, Meliorn covertly checked his pockets. Did he have them with him?_

_His hand closed around a small plastic bag inside his back left pocket. Success._

_Grinning like a death mask, Meliorn approached the lines of shot glasses._

_No one was looking..._

_He stealthily poured some chartreuse-and-lilac colored powder into each of the glasses, then the rest into his own glass of brandy._

_Meliorn was back, leaning against the wall, before any of the inebriated idiots could notice, like the European ninja-type he was._

_He drained his brandy glass, and allowed the party to actually start._

* * *

><p>But none of the others needed to know that.<p>

"Meliorn?" someone else inquired.

From the shelter of his blanket, the Eastern European model did not respond. He heard footsteps, and then someone shook him by the shoulder.

"Meliorn? Are you alive?" the girl's voice asked.

Why was she wondering that?

"Guys," she said with quite a bit of hysteria, "I think he's dead!"

"Oh my God!" another girl said. "Clary, take off his blanket and find out!"

Meliorn barely registered that, consumed in his meditative, trance-like state.

"_Meliorn_!" Someone ripped the blanket off his head, exposing him to the world.

He opened his eyes resentfully, squinting from the sudden onslaught of light. "What, in God's name, could you possibly want?" he intoned in his heavy accent.

He was staring up at the people gathered around him, and saw that the one who had uncovered his face was currently kneeling next to him.

It was the red-headed birthday girl that he had nearly seduced the night before even _before_ he drugged everyone. She really _was_ quite adorable, especially in her nude state...

A sigh of relief went through the room. A corpse after an orgy would have been hard to explain.

"Meliorn, do you remember anything from last night?" the cute ginger asked him, her light brows knit together in anxiety.

Well, he _did_ remember drugging the body shots...

"Nothing at all," he proclaimed in his deep voice.

"Then let's just all look though the rest of the pictures," suggested someone he didn't know.

And so everyone did, scrolling through the myriad of strange and occasionally disturbing pictures.

The subjects of said pictures were everything from Raphael taking a shot from between Isabelle's breasts to Clary French-kissing Kaelie to Maia doing inappropriate things to Aline on top of the coffee table.

There were pictures of Jace pulling everyone individually into a kiss- even Simon, with Sebastian looking on disapproving from a short distance away. Aline and Maia, each kissing one of his cheeks as he smirked at the camera. Even a horror-inducing picture of Jace force-kissing Alec, of all people.

Then, finally, one of him and Clary locked in a passionate embrace on a different couch than Simon and Sebastian were on.

It was no wonder where all the lipstick on his body had come from, what with all the kissing he seemed to have been doing.

Another picture of Jace and Clary, on that same couch of which they had been necking upon, posing for the camera. Jace's shirt was off- his chest only covered in slight lipstick marks- and Clary looked a bit mussed, and she was sitting on his lap. Her arms and legs were in the air, and Jace followed suit. Both were grinning like only the drunken could.

Isabelle pushing Eric to his knees (who was taking the picture?) on the floor in front of her.

Kaelie rolling across the bed with Meliorn.

Raphael and Sebastian, somehow both kissing Simon on the lips at the same time.

Clary tackling Raphael in front of the egg chair where Simon and Sebastian had relocated to.

Clary, again, but this time she was naked, and someone was grabbing her chest from behind. The only indication of the strange man's identity was a strange, leafy, emerald-green tattoo snaking around his left arm. Meliorn? In the background, the egg chair was visible... and so was a threesome- Sebastian, Simon, and Raphael.

And many blurred pictures of writhing bodies, indistinguishable in every way.

Everyone was, certainly, most disturbed after viewing these pictures. They basically told them nothing- except the threesome, naturally. If anything, the photographs only made everything more confusing. Most of the unfortunate young people still didn't know what happened!

At long last, someone asked what time it was currently, so Eric checked his cell phone.

"Mother-loving school day!" he exclaimed, which drew many curious eyes. "It's 2:37 in the afternoon!" He had another shift coming up at 6:00, when the lounge would open for the night.

A frenzy began of trying to locate everyone's clothes amid the chaos. Several dresses were ripped (including Clary's, when they tried to detach it from the ceiling fan), and Jace's outfit seemed to have disappeared entirely. Eric ended up lending him a pair of the shapeless employee pants and a shirt from the storeroom.

Jace had spent over ten minutes getting all that lipstick off his body, and now pulled on the employee uniform. "Wow," he said, studying his reflection in a mirror. "I'm a professional model, and I don't even think that I could pull this look off." He tugged the shirt over his head, and smirked. "Much better."

Concurrently, the girls were having a hair crisis. All of their hair seemed to be misshapen in some way or another due to their falling asleep in strange positions. Kalie unearthed a brush from her purse, which had been underneath Raphael's shirt, and soon, everyone's hair was presentable again.

Except Clary. She was in the public bathroom, doing her business, and when she emerged from the nondescript stall, was shocked by the figure in the mirror hanging above a sink.

Her makeup was smeared to a ridiculous degree, and half of her formerly coiffed hair was completely sticking up while the other half still looked perfect. Added to the fact that she was wearing Simon's shirt and belt as a cinched dress, even _she_ knew that she looked comical.

Even so, her eyes seemed brighter, somehow, more learned. Clary realized with a jolt as she studied her reflection through the harsh fluorescent lighting, Last night I left my teenage years behind and became a woman.

But everyone knew that women needed help sometimes. "Isabelle!" Clary yelled.

Isabelle came in a moment later. "Did somebody say my name?"

"Can you fix my hair?" the intern asked sweetly.

Clary couldn't break the gaze of the woman in the mirror even as Isabelle wrestled her hard hair into pigtails, none too gently.

The ginger was transfixed on the power she saw, the sheer _capability_ that came with being grown-up. And all this took was a night of inebriated sex? Why didn't she think of that before?

Isabelle, being the great friend that she was, even re-applied Clary's makeup, opting for a lighter, daytime variation of the previous night's.

When she was done, Clary thanked her profusely. "Thank you, Izzy, for everything. Even if I don't know who I slept with." Hopefully, it had been Jace.

Isabelle smiled. "You're very welcome, Clare-bear."

The girls hugged, and then Clary caught the time on a wall clock: 3:16 PM.

"Damn it!" she cursed hysterically. "I'm late to visit my mother!"

And so Clary Fray set off on another adventure.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hello, everyone! I'd like to thank anyone who likes this story, remind you all that I own none of this, and encourage everyone to REVIEW! **

**Reviews inspire me, and I really would love to know what everyone thinks. =D**

**Love,  
>I Suffer From Hubris<strong>


	4. Jocelyn

**I'm re-posting this to correct a few typos. Sorry for the inconvenience!**

**Disclaimer: I still, fortunately, have nothing to do with Cassandra Clare's copyright laws.**

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Four: Jocelyn<em>

"Jesus," Clary whispered hysterically, tapping her heeled foot on the floor of the subway below her. She turned to look out the window almost like it was a nervous habit, watching the black walls of the tunnel zoom past at rapid speed. She didn't know exactly how late she was at this point, but it was bound to be awful, and her protective mother's claws were definitely going to come out.

That was bad enough, but added to what happened last night... The intern was nearly at her breaking point.

She scanned the other people riding the subway, still tapping her left foot. The subway was crowded, as always, with a strange mix of people, hipsters and business-types and overall odd people that you can only find in New York City. Clary felt like all the eyes were on her, that everyone must have been thinking, "Wow, look at the ginger. Just came from a drunken orgy, I expect." Clary couldn't bear if they actually _did_ assume the truth. And how could she hide it from her mother? Jocelyn, who knew everything based on pure intuition?

She would never approve, Clary knew _that_. She had even thrown a fit when Clary slept over at Simon's house after their junior prom. They hadn't even _done_ anything, but she had said that the temptation was bad enough. How would she react to Clary _doing something_, and, worse, when Clary didn't know who the other person was?

"Need something, little lady?" Clary blinked out of her trance, and found that she had been staring at a short, strange-looking man who was sitting next to her. He had greasy, black hair that fell over his forehead, although the roots were blonde, and was wearing a dark cape.

"Um..." Clary floundered, trailing off for a moment. "Do you... happen to know what time it is?"

"Just a minute." With black-painted nails, the man drew back his long, woolen sleeve to reveal a sleek, enormous, silver watch. "I'd say that it's around 3:46."

Clary gasped. That meant that she was already an hour and a half late. But where was her cell phone...? "I left it at home," she said very quietly to herself.

"Left what at home?" The ginger's head shot up. Surely enough, it was the friendly guy in the dark cape.

She sighed, finding it best to be truthful. "My cell phone. I'm late to visit my mother, and I bet she's freaking out right now."

He smiled in response, thin lips pulling away to expose unnaturally bright, sharp-looking teeth. "I'd love to help you, but I don't believe in the telephone."

Clary pouted, crossing her arms over the deep V-neck of Simon's shirt. "Thanks, anyway."

"Not a problem, _mademoiselle_." Was he foreign like that weird Meliorn guy? They both had black hair, after all, and wore all-black clothes. And they spoke in outdated English, too.

"Are you foreign?" Clary asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

She was about to ask if he knew Meliorn when he responded, "No, I'm from Wisconsin."

"Oh." Well, that was awkward.

Looking at her through excited, brown eyes, the man crossed his legs and said, "Some call me Jacob."

So, is that his name or not? Clary thought, confused. "I'm Clary."

He, Jacob, perked up. "Short for Clarissa?" Upon her nod, "Like in the _Hannibal_ movies?"

The what movies? "Um... yeah."

Jacob's entire demeanor changed, and he was suddenly enveloped in a mildly alarming fervor. "Which was your favorite?"

How could Clary word it that she had no idea what he was talking about? "The... first one."

"Really?" he asked, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Why?"

"I... just really liked... how the director filmed everything, you know? And... the acting... It was excellent. I'm still speechless." Would that answer be alright?

"Hmm," Jacob said, staring at her speculatively. "I guess you're right. It _was_ excellent." Clary let out a grateful sigh, but her trials weren't over yet. Was he going to keep pressing her for more information? "What other movies do you like, Clarissa?"

Clary gushed, "I love-love-_love_ the _Twilight_ movies." She couldn't get enough of that brooding Rob Pattinson, and the same went with Taylor Lautner's succulent body. Clary also found herself relating to Bella on a deep, psychological level. That series was all-around _perfect!_

Jacob's face contorted, nose wrinkling violently and brows lowering. "Oh, really?" he asked unenthusiastically, as if his worst nightmares had finally come to fruition.

"Deff," Clary pledged fervently. "Vampires are hot." The same went with most magical creatures. It was why Clary enjoyed _Lord of the Rings_, for example. How much more foreign could you get than a completely different species?

The goth's expression softened, and he leaned back in his seat, stretching out his legs. "Yeah. Vampires are really fascinating. I wonder why they don't just exterminate the werewolves, though. They're just oversized dogs, so how hard could it be?"

"But werewolves are hot, too," Clary argued, getting impatient. "You can't kill them off. I bet they're already an endangered species."

One of his black-penciled eyebrows rose, but he said, "So it would be even _easier_. But why would they be an endangered species?"

"Well, I bet that lots of people are poaching them for their muscles. And kidneys," she tacked on, remembering Simon's rant about the black market.

"I... suppose so..." Jacob agreed awkwardly.

"Their pelts, too, if they're caught in wolf form. But that would be hard, since they're really fast."

"But not as fast as vampires," the dyed-black young man pointed out. "_Nothing_ is as fast or as deadly as a vampire, which makes it the ultimate specimen of super-humanity."

"Oh, yeah," the now-calm intern responded. "That's pretty much what they said on _Deadliest Warrior: Zombies vs. Vampires_." She loved _Deadliest Warrior_ almost as much as she did _Twilight_. The doctor was just so smart! And the explosions made her strangely excited.

Jacob's eye twitched. "I lost faith in that television show after original-Hannibal lost a match-up."

"Are you, like, really obsessed with Hannibal or something?" Clary wondered.

Suddenly, the subway drew to a halt. Clary looked out a window, and read the stop name. "This is where I leave," she announced, standing up and wobbling on her heels.

Jacob caught her wrist as she passed and shoved what felt like a hard piece of paper into her hand. "Clarissa," he said, guiding her to look into his deep brown eyes, "I'll await your visit."

"Visit where?"

Without answering, he gave her a gentle push towards the open door. "Goodbye, Clarissa."

As Clary stepped down onto the platform and began leaving the subway terminal, she analyzed the paper that Jacob had stuck in her hand.

It was a business card that read: JACOB BLODSÜKKR. PROFESSIONAL BLOGGER AT jacobblodsukkrblogslife. com. NO TELEPHONE. 24 SANGUINE STREET, DUMONT APARTMENT COMPLEX (#667), BROOKLYN.

It was printed in blood-red ink with a heavily-flourished font, and Clary thought that it looked elegant, right down to the thumbnail-sized picture of Jacob scowling and wearing a top hat.

Wait, Clary thought, pausing midstep. Does he expect me to visit his apartment?

And Clary realized, then, that he had been subtly good-looking, albeit a tad too gothic for her taste. Then again, she _did_ secretly like the bad boys...

"Move it, ginger," someone brusquely said behind her, firmly bumping her shoulder as he passed.

"Excuse me?" she yelled, immediately enraged. "You can't talk like that to me!"

The man turned around to glower at her. He was as tall and broad as a skyscraper- sort of- and had a deformed scar obscuring half his face. "Excuse _me_," he said in a low and dangerous growl.

Clary yelped. "Oh, Jesus... I didn't mean to offend you..." She cowered in front of the huge and frightening man.

"That's what I _thought_ you said," he snarled, taking a step towards the trembling intern. "Now, listen here, ginger. You'd better not disrespect me again. Got it?"

"I... I've got it," Clary stammered hopelessly, praying to whoever was listening to let her get out of the situation alive.

"Good." With his final word, the terrifying man pulled his leather jacket closed and continued on his pathway, leaving Clary standing, frozen, among all the people rushing around her.

One such person accidentally brushed her arm while hurrying past. It snapped Clary out of her daze, and she thought, That person is _really_ in a hurry. Actually, _all_ of these people are in a hurry. I wonder why they act like they're late all the time. Maybe they are.

Then, the small ginger remembered her mission. _She_ was the late one, not all these people! She needed to visit her mother!

With a new determination, Clary recommenced her trek to her mother's apartment.

* * *

><p>Clary twitched slightly as she ascended the stairs to the porch of her mother's brownstone apartment. How would she react to her daughter being approximately two hours late for a visit?<p>

The sound of her high heels clacking on the concrete did nothing to settle her nerves; in fact, they seemed to punctuate Clary's anxiety.

_Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack, clack._

She hesitantly opened the front door, walking into the threshold of her childhood home.

_Clack, clack, clack, clack._

Past the door of the eccentric downstairs tenant.

_Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack._

Up a short flight of stairs.

_Clack, clack, clack_.

On the landing in front of her mother's door.

Clary had to pause and take four deep breaths before she could brace herself for the explosion.

Her hand darted out, tiny and freckled, and she watched it curl into a fist like a withering dandelion. She raised it and knocked once on the hard door. Twice. Three times.

Clary almost gave up entirely- was her mother even _home_?- and even began to turn around when a voice called out from inside, "I'll be right there!"

She revolved back to face the door, legs quaking and breath coming in shallow pants. She dug her nails into her palms so that she wouldn't pass out, concentrating on the biting pain.

The door opened.

* * *

><p>Clary studied her mother over the rim of her Earl Grey tea.<p>

Jocelyn sat down on an overstuffed armchair opposite her daughter, hands clasped around her own teacup. "So, Clary," she said in her usual high-pitched simper. "Why on earth are you late?"

Her mother was wearing the same kind of outfit that she always did: a pastel-pink frilly blouse underneath light-wash overalls, her trademark paint-caked hiking boots on her feet. Jocelyn's hair was pulled back into a haphazard, deep red knot, errant curls draping over her shoulders and down her back. Her bright green eyes were disapproving, but filled with love and warmth for her daughter.

"Well," Clary began after a poignant pause, "It's kind of a long story."

"I have time," Jocelyn replied with a flippant wave of her hand, taking a drink of her own tea. Clary noticed the poppy-colored lipstick stain on the edge of Jocelyn's mug and repressed the urge to roll her eyes. Her mother _constantly_ wore lipstick, in every situation.

Clary felt lightheaded suddenly, so she took a sip of her scalding tea. After the burst of heat ended, the musky flavor of bergamot washed over her, but it did nothing for her nerves. "Um... you know how my birthday was yesterday?"

"Of course, dear. I called you yesterday morning!" She gave a light and airy laugh, a few drops of tea sent flying into the atmosphere. "And as if I could _ever_ forget giving birth to you!"

"Yeah," Clary said over her mother's laughter. "Isabelle threw me a surprise party last night..."

Jocelyn slammed her teacup onto the magazine-strewn coffee table, leaning forward in her seat and staring at Clary speculatively. "What happened?" she inquired skeptically, eyebrows lowered.

"Nothing!" Clary interjected instinctively, slinking down in her seat on the burgundy couch.

Jocelyn clicked her tongue, entwining long fingers together in her lap. "Clary, darling, I thought I raised you to always tell the truth under pressure."

"Well..." she began, struggling for the correct way to word her predicament without giving too much away. "At my party... there was alcohol involved..."

Her mother giggled delicately and took another sip of tea. "I understand completely, dear. You were too afraid to visit me because of your hangover, but finally worked up the nerve and visited your old mother."

"You're not old," Clary said vaguely, thanking her lucky stars that Jocelyn didn't know what _really_ happened. "And... you're right. Completely. Extremely."

Her secret would rest in peace, hopefully, and become a forgotten and unimportant object of the past. How she'd willingly had too much to drink and randomly hooked up with someone who wasn't Simon.

She almost dropped her teacup, the magnitude of her transgression finally becoming clear to her. She, Clarissa June Fray, who was so opposed to cheating, had personally committed what she deplored most. She had cheated on Simon, and there was no getting around it.

"Clary, darling?" Jocelyn tittered anxiously. "What's wrong? You look rather... _dysphoric_." Despite her worried tone, she ended in yet another giggle.

Clary repressed a groan, having paid attention to what her maternal unit was saying. "What does that even _mean_?"

"Look it up!" she proclaimed, brandishing her teacup for emphasis, a stream of Earl Grey pooling on the hardwood floor below. "You know what, dear? I shall buy you a dictionary as a belated birthday present." She gracefully rose out of her chair, the movement being so fluid as to be completely explainable within the confines of the situation, to befit the atmosphere as much as the red sofa, the bookshelves, the piano, the beautiful paintings, everything that made up the surrounding area, if not more so. Jocelyn was the perfect antithesis to her daughter- grace versus clumsiness, beauty versus awkwardness, unbridled joy with life versus a severe inferiority complex.

All of this filtered through the poetic part of Clary's head as these thoughts and such swirled and cantered and danced around as naturally as snowflakes.

Another part of her head, the jealous part, envied her mother. Why can't _I_ have inherited the good traits? it seethed. Why am _I_ stuck with my average, gawky looks and everything when my own mother is the opposite? Clary blamed her father, who must have been ugly and clumsy and _just as short as she was_. With freckles.

These such thoughts stampeded around like a herd of uncouth and uncivilized barbarians.

The largest part of Clary's psyche, however, was still caught up with her cheating problem. She needed to have a serious conversation with her boyfriend, face to face, so they could talk everything over like the adults they were.

This determination enveloped the last part of her head, lighting the candles of resolve and casting everything over with a dusky, golden light.

"Clary, dear!" Jocelyn trilled from across the room. Why wasn't she still near her armchair? Had Clary zoned out for that long? "Are you going to get up any minute now so we can... _depart_," a giggle, "to the store to buy you a dictionary and expand your vocabulary?"

"I can't go, Mom," Clary sighed as her thoughts circulated restlessly, but still under the light of determination. "I have to do something else." Organize a date with a Mr. Simon Lewis.

"Do something _else!_" her mother wailed, hands on her hips. "Do something _else!_ What could it possibly be? You just got here!"

"But-" Clary began to protest.

Jocelyn calmed down immediately, a smile spreading across her poppy-painted lips. "Oh. Of course! How silly of me! You want to finish your tea!"

"No, Mom-"

"Say no more, darling," Jocelyn said fondly. Clary fought to keep from groaning again. Why did her mother always assume that she knew everything?

Even so, Clary focused on her current position. "Mom!" she yelled suddenly. "Just let me talk already!"

"About what?" Jocelyn wondered, completely baffled.

"Just..." she stammered. "Just come here. You need to sit down first."

Jocelyn floated over dazedly and sat next to her daughter on the couch, grabbing her hands firmly. "You're not pregnant, are you?"

"No!" Clary said, studying her mother's classically pretty face: straight nose, hollow cheeks, and sharp-looking cheekbones. From between her bright lips, Clary glimpsed her mother's even teeth, obstructed solely by fang-like canines. Looking at teeth was far less intimidating than dark green eyes, so they were what Clary focused on as she took a deep breath and confessed, "I didn't tell you the whole story about my party last night. The truth is... I had too much to drink and someone suggested that we all get body shots and-"

"_Body shots?"_ Jocelyn thundered, positively horror-struck.

"MOM, JUST LET ME FINISH!" Clary shrieked.

The older ginger's hunter green eyes welled with tears. "Fine," she sniffed, "as long as you're telling the truth."

Clary heaved a sigh. "Of _course_ I'm telling the truth. Anyway... Where was I..."

"Body shots."

"Right! So someone suggested body shots and... I ended up hooking up with someone," Clary choked painfully.

"Who?"

Clary buried her head in her lap. "I don't know," she miserably admitted.

"Oh, Clary... I had no idea that you would grow up to be so... _deplorable_," Jocelyn finished with a sad-tinged giggled.

Did her own mother think she was that bad? "I'm not deplorable, Mother!"

"Hmm, I suppose not." Her musing tone abruptly became stern. "But I am _highly_ disappointed in you, Clarissa June. I _would_ ground you, but... _alas_," giggle, "you no longer live under my roof. You will have to face the consequences on your own, dear."

"I know, Mom."

Jocelyn tugged her daughter back into a sitting position. "But I will always love you and support you, my only child." Before Clary could see her expression, she pulled her daughter into a tight hug. "I made mistakes when I was young, too. Decisions of mine that are... _regrettable_."

"Really? Like what?"

Jocelyn pulled away, all business now. "That is a story for another... _occasion_. You must be on you way, darling."

"Alright, then," Clary said uncertainly, brushing off Simon's shirt and getting to her feet, tottering precariously atop her heels. "It was nice seeing you, Mom."

"And you, dear." Clary was almost to the door when she called to her, "And one more thing! Despite your... _transgression_, I do hope that from now on, you will choose to remain... _abstinent_."

"Will do."

Clary went back to her own apartment a mere few blocks away. Once she entered into her familiar, orange-walled living room, she was overwhelmed by an intense feeling of filth and grime.

She stripped off her clothes in the middle of her living room, tugged her hair out of its pigtails, and sprinted into the shower.

She assumed that the steam, hot water, and soap would make her feel clean, but she was disappointed to learn that it did nothing to dispel her mental dirtiness. She didn't exactly feel violated, but a part of her was gone and she didn't even know who took it.

Clary plugged in her cell phone afterward, towel secured around her body, and opened it, dialing #2 on the speed dial.

She heard it ring for a few seconds, and then her target picked up his phone. "_Hello?_"

"Hi, Simon. We need to talk."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry that it wasn't as long as chapters past, but I've made it my personal mission to include every obscure character ever mentioned in the Mortal Instruments series! **

**Review, please! WHERE ARE MY LOVELY REVIEWERS? If you review, you get a cyber-eclair, because I like eclairs. If _you_ don't like eclairs, then you get a pastry of your choice.**

**What did you think of everything? When no one reviews, I convince myself that no one likes it. =(  
><strong>

**Love,**  
><strong>I Suffer From Hubris<strong>


	5. Scalpel

_Chapter Five: Scalpel_

Clary smoothed her dress _dysphorically_ as Simon approached at his normal, leisurely pace. She was sitting on a park bench and waiting for their date to begin. All that stood in the way now was that Lewis boy's sprightly but nonetheless slow walking.

They had decided to go on a date that evening, both realizing that the relationship needed serious reevaluation after the previous night's events.

But neither knew what was to occur on their outing; that was to be decided as they went along.

Clary had even gotten all dolled up for the occasion. What a mess _that_ had been...

* * *

><p><em>Clary, in a feeble attempt to give her hair more volume, was back-combing her already voluminous hair until she heard a sickening, ripping noise.<em>

_"Oh-my-God," she hissed, pulse rising. "Oh-my-God. Damn it! Oh-my-God." She maneuvered her mass of slightly-longer-than-shoulder-length hair around so that she could see what happened in the mirror, and her heart sank. "DAMN IT!"_

_Her h- no, what _used_ to be her hair- was now a frizzy, messy, bright-orange-colored tangle, a hair-don't at its finest._

_Clary raked her comb through her unfortunate locks unsuccessfully, until it was jarred out of her hand. "AGH!" Surely enough, it was _stuck in her hair_! Now Simon would see it and break up with her on the spot, and-_

_The comb finally broke loose of her hair's binds. "Oh, thank God." She continued with her try at taming her mess. "God... damn... you!" she cursed hysterically at the pink plastic comb for not doing its job properly._

_This was hopeless. She needed an expert's opinion! Clary grabbed at her phone and dialed her best friend's number. "Izzy!" she wailed. "My hair... my hair..."_

_"Your hair what?" Isabelle wondered, usual lack of enthusiasm in her voice. "You didn't cut it off, did you?"_

_"No-" stab with comb, "but I'm-" another jab, "considering it!" Clary wildly threw her comb on the ground as tears flew into her eyes. "Izzy, it's an absolute mess! I was trying to back-comb it, and-"_

_"Why the hell would you do that?"_

_"I DON'T KNOW!" Clary wept. "But now it looks like a _hairball!_ A hairball, Isabelle!"_

_Her friend sighed. "Clary, just try to ignore it for now."_

_"How am I supposed to ignore it? It's kind of _attached to my head!_"_

_"CLARY! I'm not done yet!"_

_The raving ginger quieted. "Oh. Sorry."_

_"Now, as I was about to say... Put it in a bun for now."_

_"A bun?" she echoed. It seemed so simple..._

_"And wash your hair later. It'll be fine, as long as you calm the fuck down, okay?"_

_"Okay. Thanks, Izzy."_

_"Yep." She hung up, and Clary felt somewhat stupid. Only a bun! That was easy!_

_Wrestling her hair into one, however, proved more difficult, but she ended up with most of her hair in a tousled, textured knot at the nape of her neck with some pieces falling down. It actually looked really nice! After all that crying and trouble... Maybe she should try it again some time, if the end product looked that nice and even... sexy._

_That was a new concept to her. But gazing at her perfectly messy hair in the mirror, the adjective seemed to fit._

_Then, Clary remembered that she was a woman, and it all made sense._

_Goodbye, Raggedy-Ann, she thought._

_She next set to work on her makeup, applying what she felt to be the most grown-up from her collection: sparkly gold eyeshadow, peach-colored blush, and her pink, bubblegum-flavored lip-gloss. She didn't have any mascara, which was unfortunate, but Clary still thought that it looked relatively good and sophisticated. _

_But... would Simon?_

* * *

><p>It was time to find out.<p>

"Clary!" he said brightly, catching her by the shoulders and pecking her cheek.

"Hi, Simon," she replied, taking a step back and grinning up at his lanky frame.

"Well, you look nice," Simon told her whilst examining her outfit. "That's a cute sundress."

Clary caught the yellow gingham material between her fingertips, smiling. "Thanks. My mom got it for me a while ago." She wrapped her arms around her boyfriend's thin waist, saying, "What do you think of the sweater? I almost wore a jean jacket, but I decided against it at the last minute."

He detangled himself from her arms with a sigh. "Clary, I thought you wanted to talk about serious things."

"Or make out," she added, running her hands up his graphic T-shirt-clad chest, stopping upon reaching his scarf. "Either would be fine."

Being a woman gave Clary confidence, and made her realize that she wanted to have sex again. With Simon. As soon as possible.

"Stop it," he insisted, catching her hands and holding them gently. "You were right when you said that we need to _talk_. So, are we just going to stay here, or go somewhere, or what?"

Clary pouted, but his deep brown eyes were so reassuring that she nearly forgot his rejection. "Can we do dinner and a movie?"

"Sure. What movie do you want to see?" He kept hold of one of her hands, starting to walk down a pathway with her. Simon was so sweet.

Their entwined fingers swayed back and forth as they walked, just like in high school. Just like they had never parted ways at all, and had been happy ever since. "Well, Breaking Dawn: Part One just came out..." Clary alluded obviously. She really wanted to see that movie, and it would make their date great.

Simon rolled his eyes, but was smiling half-heartedly nonetheless. "Whatever you want."

"I heard that it's really good," she appealed, hopefully trying to warm him up to the idea.

"Yeah, yeah. As good as the other three, right?"

"It's apparently better, actually. With lots of violence..." ...and a really sexy honeymoon scene.

They stopped walking, due to Simon's pause mid-step. "Well, are we going? Because if we are, we need to get showtimes."

"I deff want to go, Simon."

Releasing his girlfriend's hand, the Simon in question dug in his messenger bag and unearthed his brand-new iPhone. "Alright."

As he turned it on and attempted to access a movie app, Clary started milling around the area, examining the surrounding foliage of the park. The humid air, hanging in the atmosphere like a wet towel; the carefully manicured shrubbery positioned at neat intervals; the hurrying pedestrians tearing up the sidewalk and not-too-carefully evading the stationary couple.

"God damn it," Simon said under his breath, poking at his phone's screen. Beads of perspiration from the hot August day dripped out from his hairline and down his forehead. "I thought this thing was supposed to be fast."

His ginger-haired intimate coached, "Just be patient." She grasped the thin fabric of her dress's skirt, swinging it back and forth as she let her imagination take over. Suddenly, the heat of the day and the sweat plastering her dress to her back disappeared, and she didn't even register that she was overheating in her unnecessary sweater.

"Clary-" Simon began exasperatedly, but then glanced at the screen again and perked up. "Oh, finally! Okay. Breaking... D-A-W-N- No, you stupid thing! I spelled 'dawn', not 'damn'!" he narrated, jabbing at the touch screen in exasperation. "There we go. Dawn. And here we are. What theater do you want to go to?"

"What?" Clary asked, jarring back to reality. The sudden question caught her off-guard, and pulled her back to humid, sticky real life. The truth was that she had been caught in one of her occasional Jace-fantasies. This time, he had been tackling her at night on a grassy plain scattered with debris, kissing her deeply and feeling up her bare back under her thin blouse. The air was crisp and cool, a far cry from the present. "Sorry, I zoned out," she explained, blushing as vibrantly as her hair.

"Where... do you... want to see the movie?" Simon said slowly, wearing his sarcastic-face.

Clary waved her hand unconcernedly, tugging off her cable-knit sweater and draping it over an arm. "Wherever's closest." With her shoulders and neck exposed, Clary felt strangely liberated. The hot sun beat down on her thin arms, sure to raise more freckles, but she couldn't bring herself to stop drinking in the light enough to care.

"Ooooo-kay..." So that she wouldn't sink into another Jace-related daydream, Clary almost guiltily studied Simon: his dark, shaggy hair, his brown eyes, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration... Simon was so hot. How could she ever want anyone else?

Jace is hotter, her mind nagged unhelpfully. And Simon's almost like a brother.

"Looks like the closest theater is some new place called Mysterioso Cinemas," he said finally, glancing up to meet her eyes.

"Then let's go there!"

"I dunno, Clary. 'Mysterioso'? It sounds more like a bad strip club."

Clary tugged on his slender, tanned arm, resting her temple on his gently muscled bicep. "Pleeeeeeease? I want to go there!"

She looked at his phone's display, and saw a list of showtimes. "Fine. Calm down. What time do you want to go?"

"You can pick, but remember that I want to go to dinner first," she reminded him.

"9:45?" he suggested after a brief mental calculation.

The ginger checked the current time in the corner, 6:07. "Sounds good to me."

They started ambling along down the path again, with Clary clinging to Simon's arm and Simon tucking his phone back into his canvas messenger bag.

"Now, dinner?" he asked.

"Let's just keep walking for now," Clary said, steering them off the park's pathway and onto the regular sidewalk. "Maybe we'll see somewhere we want to go."

The next few minutes passed in silence as the young couple navigated the busy streets together. At one point, they passed a small movie theater that was styled to look vintage, the marquis lit up and bearing two words: MYSTERIOSO CINEMAS.

"Well, it doesn't look like a strip club," Clary said, glancing at the multitudes of oddly-dressed people rushing in.

"You would think so," Simon remarked darkly, giving a mordant chuckle. "Let me tell you that some of the most unlikely places end up being strip clubs." A couple seconds later, "Or gay bars."

That made his girlfriend laugh. "Because you would know _all_ about those types of venues."

"Let's just say that my college friends dragged me to some really weird places."

"Oh." Clary couldn't keep the cold note from her voice; a reminder of their previous distance was unwelcome at best. Why would he even bring it up when they were supposed to be on a date? "That's great," she said in a sour sort of tone.

Simon heaved a sigh. "Clary, don't be like this."

"Don't be like what?" Clary freed his arm and walked to a spot a pace or two from their previous ambulatory-cuddling.

"Like this! How many times do I have to apologize for what happened a couple years ago?"

"As many times as I feel that you have to."

"Clary, that's ridiculous. Maybe this date was a bad idea," Simon said uncertainly.

"_No!_" She was determined to make this work and to end the night in his embrace, even if it killed someone. "No." Clary grabbed his hand and forced him to meet her eyes, pleading silently for her boyfriend to understand.

"Fine," he delivered flatly, stubbornly not matching her gaze again. "We'll talk this through."

"Thank you." Just then, Clary spotted something at the end of the block over the heads of all the tall people around her. "Hey, a restaurant!"

"Where?" Simon squinted through the bright, late-August light in hopes of seeing what Clary had pointed out.

She moved his head manually so that he could view the sign. "Right there. _Scalpel: Organic Gourmet Cuisine_."

The sign itself was in a flourished font with much decoration, especially the horizontal medical knife piercing the letters.

"Um..." Simon said, thoroughly bemused. "It seems kind of shady. Who the hell names their restaurant after a surgical instrument?"

"Can we just try it? Look, it's even organic."

Growing up, Simon had been Jewish and vegetarian, but emerged from college as an atheist living an organic lifestyle.

It must come with being a hipster, Clary thought.

"Okay... I _guess_ we can try it... But if they have human kidneys on the menu, I'm leaving."

"Oh, Simon," Clary laughed. "You're so funny."

"Yeah, ha-ha," he replied humorlessly. "I'm serious."

"Cheer up. I bet it's fine!" she insisted as they approached the door.

Simon was about to open it for her, but it swung open on its own, scrubs-clad man leaning against it. "Welcome to Scalpel," he said in a wheezy voice, adjusting his surgeon-hat and grinning.

Simon leaned over to whisper in Clary's ear in a warning: "If this somehow goes wrong, I'm blaming you."

"Just relax!" she coached supportively, repressing her secret fear of this so-far-strange restaurant.

As they entered through a threshold, the concrete underfoot changed to utilitarian gray tiles, and everything became illuminated in sickly, fluorescent lighting that made Simon's olive skin look green and highlighted Clary's freckles.

Everything was too white to be real, walls and tablecloths alike draped in pristine white cloth. There were spots on the walls where the fabric pulled away to reveal cubist paintings of surgical tools.

Sitting at the tables were people in various stages of dining, but all of them appeared to be enjoying themselves, at least.

"Relax," Clary repeated, for Simon's benefit as well as her own. "We'll get a gourmet meal out of this, if anything."

As there was a small group of people that seemed to be waiting for tables, they drew near to the host's podium, a tall, narrow barstool-like structure covered in white cloth, almost resembling an operating table. The hostess herself was clad in mint-green scrubs like the doorman, complete with latex gloves.

"Table for two?" she asked nicely enough.

"Uh-huh," Simon forced out, fearfully looking at the surrounding area.

"Can I have the name of your party, please?"

A wicked look crossed Simon's face, and he got a devilish tilt to his mouth. "Donner," he said.

Clary elbowed him. Leave it to Simon to make a historical joke about American cannibals at a time like this, she thought.

The hostess scanned her table registry, not seeming to get Simon's pun. "Oh! Mr. Donner, we can actually seat you immediately. Right this way, please," ordered the perky woman, grabbing two clipboards from behind her podium and leading the couple to a table positioned underneath a painting of medical scissors.

Clary attempted to keep a hopeful attitude about the whole thing, pushing her feelings of dread to the back of her head where they couldn't bother her.

Simon hissed in Clary's ear, mirroring her doubts, "It's not too late to turn back, you know!"

"Simon!" she chastised, hitting his arm and sliding into a stark metal booth.

He reluctantly sank onto the seat opposite her, narrowly concealing a glare at the hostess.

The woman kept standing, still as a statue, at the head of the table for a few seconds and then laid down the clipboards in front of the couple. "Your server will be in shortly," she chirped, springing away with a swish of mint-green fabric.

Clary smiled, satisfied with the friendly service, and began perusing her laminated menu card that was clamped onto the clipboard. It actually wasn't much of a _menu_, offering only three or so choices under each category, and nothing seemed recognizable and/or edible, but this was sure to be bushels of fun.

"What the hell is on this thing?" Simon asked rudely. "Can't they serve anything _normal?_"

Clary brought her menu down on top of his head, feeling like she was babysitting a bratty child. "Don't be mean. This is _fun_," she emphasized.

"Oh, yeah? When does the fun start? 'Cause for now," Simon dropped his voice, leaning in close to his girlfriend, "this just looks like I'm going to be miserable the entire time we're here."

An idea struck the ginger, and a manic grin took over her face. "Not now," she whispered back, trying at being coy.

That just confused him. "What? Of _course_ I'm miserable now. What are you talking about?"

"This," Clary said, closing the small distance between their faces. Simon's lips were warm and soft, as they always were, but for once, he wasn't reciprocating her kiss.

That only meant that she had to try harder!

She raised both hands to cup his face, practically yanking him across the table, and pressed harder against his mouth. On impulse, Clary bit his lower lip.

It was all part of a rapidly-conceived plan. Simon opened his mouth (probably to protest at the maltreatment of his lips) and she forced her tongue into it immediately.

Then, before she could slide her palm elsewhere, someone cleared their throat.

Simon jerked back with a strangled, "_What the hell was that?_" and Clary fell away from him as limply as a ragdoll, both of their faces burning.

It was a waiter, probably in his mid-forties and more haggard than ever. Like the other waitstaff, she was dressed in typical "surgeon wear", scrubs and latex gloves and plastic hair covering and all (the only thing missing was a face mask). He cleared his throat again, saying in an extremely musical voice, "My name is Ithuriel. Our wine today is a special house blend called Scalpel Rouge, and you can see the rest of our selection on the backs of your menu cards. Can I get you anything to drink? Water will be out once you two children give me an answer."

Clary was so distracted by the bass rumble of his voice that she almost missed his question. "Um..." she started, unclasping her clipboard and looking over the wine selection. Should she try wine? What did it taste like? She chose one at random. "I'll take Cab... Caber-Net... So-Vig-Nin..."

"Cabernet Sovignon?" Ithuriel clarified uninterestedly, practically singing.

"Yeah, what you said."

"Can I see your ID, young lady?"

Clary dug out her Hello Kitty wallet out of her tote bag, retrieving her license and handing it to the waiter. As he studied it, she studied him. Although his face was lined like one who had worked rigorously in recent years, he was still handsome. And poking out from under his hat were bright golden curls that made her think of Jace. Come to think of it, the waiter with the strange name even had the same light-brown, goldish eyes...

Words tumbled out of Clary's mouth. "Are you related to Jace Wayland?"

Simon gave her a look, but Ithuriel just sighed and said mellifluously, "No, but I get that all the time."

"Oh."

He handed Clary back her license, and turned to Simon for his wine order.

"Pinot Grigio for me, please."

"I'll be right back with water for both of you," Ithuriel said miserably, ambling away with the canter of one who was carrying a heavy burden on his back.

Once he was out of earshot, Clary pouted. "Why did he ID me and not you?"

Simon disregarded her question, a glower playing at his features. "What was with that display?"

"What display?"

"You... _kissing me_ like that. What was that about? I was trying to get away, and you just shoved your tongue in my mouth."

The way he put it made it sound so harsh. And Clary had been trying to be romantic! "Oh. That," she said simply, at a loss for what to say.

"Don't you, '_oh, that,'_ me, Fray," Simon warned. "What the hell came over you?"

Clary stared at her hands, clasped and resting on the table, for a moment and then reached one up gently, holding it against his cheek. "It's because I love you," she half-pleaded. "And I want to be with you forever."

Simon exhaled carefully, a strange look in his eyes, as he brought one of his own hands up to remove Clary's. Even so, he held it in both of his on the tabletop. "That's what I want to talk about with you."

Then his expression contorted violently, and he jumped to his feet.

"Simon? What's wrong?"

"I've got to go to the bathroom," he explained frantically, darting off to an attached hallway with a plaque above it proclaiming: RESTROOMS.

* * *

><p>His first impression of the men's room at Scalpel was that it was nice. Almost too nice, decor-wise, and it didn't have the strong odor that most men's bathrooms usually did. Had he stumbled into the women's room by mistake?<p>

Turning a corner, he saw urinals with the same modern, metallic finish as everything else in there. Ah, so he _was_ in the men's room. That was comforting.

And he was the only one inside, too.

With no hesitation, Simon wrestled down his tight jeans.

A minute or so later, as he struggled to pull them back up over his hips, he heard the door swinging open again. He tried even harder to force his jeans up (why had he worn the super-tight ones today?) at the risk of being embarrassed with the arrival of the newcomer.

Sadly, he was too late.

And once he saw a familiar head of white-blond hair turn the corner, his mouth dropped open.

"Sebastian?"

Sebastian recognized Simon and grinned the grin of a cat before its teeth entrapped a helpless mouse. The Morgenstern grin. "Oh, Simon. Fancy seeing you here... and in such a state."

Simon finally wrenched his pants up, buttoning them and trying not to look as mortified as he felt. Naturally, Sebastian would be the one to walk in on him fighting with his jeans in the public bathroom of a shady restaurant.

"Um..." Simon sputtered, grasping for words. "What are you... doing here?"

Sebastian kept staring at him, a smirk playing at his lips. "I was going to go to the bathroom, as it appears _you_ were just doing."

Only Sebastian would be so obviously candid as to make Simon feel unintentionally stupid for asking such a question. Either way, staring at the tall, fair-haired man brought butterflies into Simon's stomach and memories of the night before flooding into his mind...

Simon blushed, but played it off as nothing. "No. What are you doing here at... Scalpel?"

The slightly older young man took a few slow, measured steps towards Simon, his smirk growing and taking over his face. "I was just at a birthday party upstairs for my aunt, Elodie."

"Ah. That's nice."

Sebastian advanced even more, until they were barely an arm's length apart. "But I'm sure that she wouldn't mind if I was away for a short while..."

He ducked in with intent of kissing the brown-haired boy, but Simon turned his head in panic at the last moment. Sebastian's lips grazed his cheek, arms folding around to cradle him.

"You're all I could think about today," he whispered in Simon's ear, hot breath evoking a shudder.

"S-Sebastian?" Simon squirmed, only half-trying to free himself from the model's embrace. The truth was that _he_ had been thinking about _Sebastian_ all day, too, and that every second that went by sent him closer and closer to melting in sheer desire. He barely wanted to fight it anymore.

"Yes?" Sebastian's mouth dragged along Simon's jawline.

Simon was forced to play the last card he had. "This might sound awkward, but... don't you have to go to the bathroom?"

A laugh rumbled through Sebastian's chest, and his composure slipped. He pulled back for a moment, a real smile on his face. It made him look almost... harmless. Friendly, even. "Does it matter?"

"Well, kind of. I guess."

He laughed again, still holding the other boy in his tight embrace. "You are so innocent, in your own way. It's extremely refreshing."

A witty comment tumbled out of Simon's mouth. "Just because people like you are over-sexed doesn't mean the rest of us are." He regretted saying it as soon as he did- would the model see it as an insult?

But he laughed yet again, looking actually happy instead of predatory.

"Wow, you must be really starved for humor," Simon observed. "I'm not that funny, you know."

"Simon," Sebastian playfully admonished, his pale face almost sweet. "In my book, you are hilarious."

"Is that an insult?"

Sebastian paused briefly, a look of amusement frozen as if by a 'pause' button on a remote control. Finally, he pecked Simon's cheek before he could react. "Of course it's not an insult."

Simon's face grew warm from the brief pressure of the blond's lips on his cheek. "Oh. Good. I hoped it wasn't," he choked out awkwardly. Then, he resentfully remembered his girlfriend. As much as he wanted to stay in that bathroom, laughing and talking with Sebastian, it just wasn't fair to Clary. Damn ginger. "Sebastian..." Simon began grudgingly. "I just want you to know that I'm here because I'm on a date. With Clary."

The taller boy drew back, studying Simon placidly through his midnight eyes. "Are you." It wasn't a question.

Simon answered it like one anyway. "Yes, I am. It's to reevaluate our relationship."

"Alright," he permitted with a curt nod. "But you can't leave me empty-handed."

"Can't I?" the brunet squeaked.

"No, I wouldn't say that you can. You at _least_ have to give me something to remember you by until you're officially on-the-market."

"A token of my affections?"

Dark humor shone in Sebastian's piercing gaze. "If you want to think about it that way, then yes."

Seized by a sudden, uncharacteristic whim, Simon gave in to his desires that had been brewing, and pressed his mouth against the other young man's.

The nerves in his lips felt like they would explode- was this what kissing was supposed to be like? Not the tame, safe embraces of Clary (or her apparent scary side...), but something passionate and primal and instinctive?

Simon felt his back press up against an empty wall of the bathroom as Sebastian's mouth ravaged his and vice versa, and wasn't even sure how far things were going to go, but did he even care?

And then he heard a call echoing around the corner. "Sebastian! Sebastian, are you in here?"

The boys' lips came apart to barely an inch as they stared into each other's eyes in wonderment, trying to catch their breath.

"Sebastian!" It was that voice again...

"Shit," muttered the Sebastian in question, jumping a foot away and beginning to assiduously wash his hands. He raised his voice. "I'm in here, Jace!"

Jace Wayland turned the corner then, exasperatedly bringing a hand through his gold curls. "There you are. God damn it, why didn't you answer me the first time?"

"I couldn't hear you," his twin claimed innocently, the sexual flush still in his cheeks, as Simon noticed in the mirror.

"Like hell you couldn't hear me. Either way, the old man sent me to get you. Elodie's about to freak out. She thought you left." Jace leaned against the wall opposite Simon, crossing his muscled arms and looking lazily into the mirror. He seemed to actually notice the room's third occupant for the first time, eyebrows raising. "Well, what do you know. Simon, right?"

"Yeah," he barely choked out, trying to make his face return to its normal color.

Jace's buttery brown gaze slid fluidly from his brother to Simon over and over again, and then a knowing smirk spread across his face. "Ah, I see," he teased, strutting up to the sink next to Sebastian's and looking at him in the mirror's reflection. "So _that's_ what's been taking you."

Sebastian's expression turned hostile. "Don't. Tell. _Anyone_," he enunciated.

As Simon stared at the brothers in the mirror, he was abruptly jarred to the realization of exactly how much their looked alike, especially for fraternal twins. And seeing Sebastian's evil smirk replicated on Jace was just scary.

"Don't tell anyone _what?_" Jace mocked.

"You know what I'm talking about, little brother."

"Do I?"

"You do."

"You sure about that?"

Simon took the chance to sigh loudly, and started making his way to the door. "Look," he said, interrupting the brothers' bickering, "it was nice seeing you, Sebastian, but I've got to go now. So... bye, I suppose."

"Goodbye," Sebastian said, giving the brunet a wink in the mirror. "I'll see you later."

It almost sounded like a threat. "Yeah. Later." Simon turned on his heel and crossed the remainder of the room.

"What, no goodbye for me?" Jace called after him. "Typical."

Of what? "And goodbye, Jace!" Simon yelled back indignantly.

* * *

><p>When he got back to the table, Simon found Clary sipping dark red liquid from a wine glass and grinning like a lunatic.<p>

Maybe Sebastian _was_ the better choice...

"Simon!" Clary squealed as he sat down, putting her wine glass on the table with a 'clink' noise. "I hope you don't mind, but I ordered for you since you were taking so long."

"Thanks," he commented uncertainly. "What did you order?"

"You'll see!" That was Clary-ese for "Actually, I picked at random and can't remember what I blindly chose." Either way, she covered it up with a winning smile. "I'm just really happy that you're back."

"Yeah, alright."

Clary could sense that something was off about her boyfriend, but she didn't quite know what. She wanted to ask him, but then figured that if it was any of her business, he would surely tell her on his own. Nevertheless, the mere sight of him made Clary's heart kick into overdrive.

Her Simon, so handsome with his kindly brown eyes, always supportive of her and an overall wonderful person.

To think that she had slept with someone who probably wasn't him... It was baffling to know that alcohol could do that to someone.

Clary took another absentminded sip of her wine and kept staring at her boyfriend, batting her eyelashes slightly. If she had to lose her virginity to a stranger, she could at least make it up to Simon later.

"Now, Simon," she said, attempting an Isabelle-esque purr. "What were you going to say earlier?"

Simon distractedly played with his own wine glass, tracing the rim, down the side of the cup, down the stem, across the base, and the same in reverse. His doe eyes didn't meet her once. "Well, Clary, it's something I've been thinking about for awhile now, and..."

Was he going to propose? That would be so romantic, Clary thought. But if he's planning on spending his life with me, we should at least talk about last night first.

It was that thought that prompted her to interrupt, "Wait. Hold on. Before you say anything else, let's talk about what happened last night."

Simon's gaze flicked to hers for an instant, and then back to his wine glass. "Okay, fine. What about it?"

She drew in a deep breath, and then words began falling out from between her glossy, bubble-gum flavored lips. "Well, basically, I don't really know what happened, but I know that I had sex and I know that it wasn't with you, so I'm really disappointed and kind of upset about that, and I know that _you_ slept with Sebastian and probably Raphael, and that I made out with Jace, and-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Clary, slow down," Simon said wearily, grabbing her sweater-clad shoulder from across the table and shaking it gently for emphasis. "Just take it one thing at a time."

Breath left her mouth in a muted hiss, like a whistling tea kettle after the heat was turned off. "I know," she sighed, attempting a wry smile. "But, anyway... I'm really sorry about last night."

"It wasn't your fault," he said immediately.

"Well, yeah, but I still broke our personal commitment to each other."

"I broke it too," Simon said, another odd look coming over his face as it flooded with vibrant color. He opened his mouth, wordlessly at first, and then began to speak, voice anguished. "Clary, I-"

But then the Jace-reminiscent waiter, Ithuriel, appeared at the head of the table, laden with two plates.

Clary grabbed Simon's hand and squeezed it. "Look, our food's here!"

"Actually," clarified the weary waiter, "these are your appetizers that are complimentary with the entrees you ordered."

"Same diff," Clary scoffed, mildly insulted. Then she downed the rest of her glass of wine.

Ithuriel laid the plates on the table, two white rectangles identically made up with a pipette filled with light liquid, with a cherry tomato, a basil leaf, and a sphere of mozzarella stuck on the tip.

"Um," Simon said, staring down at his plate, "what is this, exactly?"

"Salad," replied Ithuriel. "The concept is that you stick the whole tip in your mouth- the tomato and mozzarella and basil, in other words- and squirt the olive oil in as you chew." With that, he left the wary consumers alone and confused.

"What, are they going through budget cuts?" Simon muttered. "May as well try this..." He picked up his pipette and did as instructed, grimacing as the flood of too much olive oil entered his mouth. Still, he finished without spitting it out.

"Well?" Clary pressed, fingering hers and trying to decide what she should do with it.

"That was..." he said, smacking his tongue and wrinkling his nose, "interesting. Not necessarily bad, but interesting."

Clary, at that moment, ate her "salad". It actually _wasn't_ bad and _was_ kind of interesting, but the deluge of olive oil was _extremely_ disorienting. Regardless, it left a pleasant aftertaste in her mouth. She wished she had more, if anything.

"How was yours?" Simon asked.

"I kind of want to ask for another."

Simon sipped his wine and rolled his eyes affectionately. "You are one odd little ginger, Fray. But what was the chef thinking? How does that qualify as salad?"

"I don't really know, but I liked it."

The Lewis boy poked at his empty pipette on the stark white plate. "I just realized something. Why did the olive oil come in a medicine dropper? It seems really shady. Like the rest of this place!" he tacked on, finishing in a conspiratorial whisper.

"It's probably just going with the theme. You know, hospitals and doctors and stuff."

"And who in their right mind would make that the theme of a restaurant in the first place?"

Clary shrugged noncommittally. "I dunno. Someone."

Ithuriel came back again with two more platters.

"That was quick," Simon murmured under his breath to his girlfriend.

The waiter set down a plate in front of Clary, then Simon, saying, "I have the open-faced roast beef sandwich with arugula and pumpkin butter, and the sweet-potato gnocchi with cranberries, apples, and Amish bleu cheese." Simon made a betrayed face at Clary at what she had ordered as Ithuriel collected their empty pipette-laden trays. "Your sides of apple sauce are on the way, but will take several minutes."

Once he was a safe distance away, Simon widened his eyes comically and accosted his ginger-haired girlfriend in a shaking voice, "Clarissa June Fray, what the fucking hell did you order?"

"I just picked at random," she confessed, grinning at his melodramatics.

"You... picked... at random?" Simon squeaked, his voice choked. His gaze dropped to his plate of sweet-potato gnocchi. "Clary, this looks like a tray of severed thumbs."

Clary laughed. Her boyfriend was so funny sometimes. "Oh, Simon." Then she looked upon her own platter, another stark white rectangle, this time occupied by a cheerful slab of bread, atop of which sat roast beef and leafy greens resting on a light orange paste.

"At least yours looks edible," the brunet complained petulantly, grabbing for a fork and coming up with an oversized pair of tweezers. That set him off, apparently, as he slammed his fist on the table and yelled, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PLACE? Can't I just have a normal fork instead of these God-damn mother-f-"

Clary desperately picked up a piece of his gnocchi (which coincidentally _did_ look like a severed thumb) with her fingers and shoved it in his mouth in hopes of quieting him. By now, people were staring due to his outburst, and she needed to calm him down as soon as possible. She didn't want to be kicked out! That wasn't romantic at all.

Simon slowly chewed his gourmet mouthful, asking out of the corner of his mouth, "And what the hell did you just feed me?"

"Part of your food," Clary said, gesturing at his plate.

"It's fucking disgusting," he pouted, nonetheless picking up his tweezers and stuffing in another bite.

"Then why are you eating it?" The ginger was still wary of the onlookers, but everyone's eyes seemed to be averted once again.

"I'm starving. That damned salad-substitute made me hungry. I bet it's something in the olive oil."

Clary gave him a look and searched her side of the table for a knife to cut up her sandwich with. But all that was left was a scalpel...

Wow, she thought, I'm all for themed restaurants, but this is going overboard.

In any case, the young Fray stabbed her tweezers into her sandwich to hold it in place and cut into it with her provided scalpel.

Simon, meanwhile, kept shoveling his "disgusting" gnocchi into his mouth, including the various pieces of bleu cheese, sweet potatoes, cranberries, and apples scattered throughout the dish. All the while, he wore his same angst-ridden expression, but his temper seemed to have cooled.

That was good for Clary if they were finally going to consummate their relationship that night. Unless they had angry sex... She'd heard about it on television and it _seemed_ promising...

Clary, then, took a bite of her quartered sandwich, and it tasted... Surprisingly normal. Refreshingly, almost. A second later was when the pumpkin butter kicked in, leaving a warm and pasty spice on her tastebuds. It was a bit gross, but not overbearing. She took another bite.

As the young couple was finishing their entrees in food-induced silence, Ithuriel came back with a third set of two white trays. This time, they each held a syringe- an oversized one at least six inches long and an inch wide- filled with applesauce. "Your sides," he delivered in his pleasant baritone, dropping them off on the table and walking away.

Both adults stopped their eating and stared at the new arrivals.

It was Simon, naturally, who broke the silence. "Do they expect us to eat that or shoot it up our veins like heroin?"

Clary finished her sandwich and picked up her syringe, turning it over in her hands. It was an awfully large one, and how was she supposed to get to the applesauce trapped inside?

As she lifted it up and pushed the pointy (yet needle-less) tip past her lips, a thought crossed her mind.

A dirty thought.

Recalling Harry/Draco slash fics she occasionally read before going to sleep at night.

Clary wondered if Simon recognized the potential for naughty symbolism that lay in this syringe. She looked forward to him to see if he was paying attention, and surely enough, he was staring bemusedly at her.

A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth around the syringe.

And Clary Fray instinctively decided to put on a show.

She pushed the syringe in deeper.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Wow, I'm sorry that took so long! What did you all think? Tell me! Is it too sexual? I'm going to keep it rated T since I've seen much, much worse, but what do you all think? **

**Again, I'm sorry that this took so long, but it was a difficult few months writing-wise. Not much time to write recently! And as of right now, my nose is running like a faucet and I have a pile of used Kleenexes in front of me about as tall as Mt. Everest, but I figured that getting this up is important! So you'd all better appreciate it. Let's hope I get better soon!**

**Can you at least leave me reviews so I can know if it's good or not? Thanks.**

**Oh, and before anyone asks, this is where I got the ideas for all the wacky food: My aunt dragged me to a shady fundraiser awhile ago, and that was all the food that was served. I tried it all, and my opinions are reflected in the characters. =) Yes, the applesauce syringes were included.**

**With love,  
>I Suffer From Hubris<br>**


	6. Lying

**Disclaimer: I own neither the Mortal Instruments series nor Panic! at the Disco's song canon. Hate to break it to you. Now, onto the chapter!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Six: Lying<em>

Clary didn't really know what she was doing, but she tried to apply everything she knew from her favorite M-rated fanfictions. Meanwhile, she kept eye contact with Simon, attempting sexy expressions that would hopefully catapult him into a burning passion.

She didn't get very far.

"Clary? What the hell are you doing?" Simon asked, utterly baffled. "Are you trying to give a blowjob to your applesauce?"

"I dunno," Clary chirped, still continuing with her strange exhibition.

"Clary!" he admonished, trying to grab the syringe from her. "Stop it!"

She leaned back, out of his reach. "Stop what?"

Simon managed to catch her wrists, and manually forced the syringe from her mouth. "This isn't like you. I don't know why you were doing that… vulgar display, there, but it's not the Clary I know."

Tears welled in her emerald eyes. "Can I at least have it back so I can eat my applesauce?"

Simon awkwardly placed the saliva-covered plastic syringe in her hand. "Fine. As long as you don't do that again."

Very quickly, Clary put it back into her mouth and pushed the plunger, causing all of the trapped applesauce to shoot down her throat. Then, she removed the syringe again, licking her lips, and returned it to her plate. "Mmm," she commented vaguely.

Simon stared at her as if in a new light. Clary had always been different, but ever since her birthday party, she had been acting like some other person. Someone who wasn't Clary at all- what with the syringe.

He suspected demonic possession. Either that, or it was a sign of the apocalypse.

Or maybe he wasn't meant to marry Clay after all.

But, after all those years of dating and planning their future together, what else could he do? Simon had decided when he was little that he and Clary were going to get married when they were older. She would be a stay-at-home mom to their three children (Rocko, Arnold, and Amanda) and he would be Spiderman. Everything was supposed to work out perfectly and one day far into the future, Simon would be sitting with his wife in rocking chairs on the porch while their grandchildren played with their elderly pet Catdog. And then one of his kids would almost fall down the porch steps, so old Simon would shoot a web out of his wrist and rescue him. And then he and Clary would look at each other, smile, and decide that they had lived good, fulfilling lives.

But so far… none of that was happening.

He hadn't been bitten by a radioactive spider yet, for one, and two, things just weren't working out correctly.

Simon had never guessed, for example, that he would be more attracted to a platinum-blond male model than he should, and that he might even like boys in general more than girls. That was dangerous thinking, but it had been on his mind for years now. It had just taken the night before to awaken it in him.

It was why, in college, he and his ex-girlfriend, Maureen, had broken up. He didn't want to "take the next step" and she had cheated on him. It was only later that he realized his reluctance was because the thought of being with a girl in that way turned his stomach. But he had rationalized that by deciding it was because he was meant to be with Clary. And even last night he had told her that he was straight. But also last night, Simon had kind of lost his virginity in a threesome. With two men. Raphael, according to the picture, and…

Sebastian.

Simon blinked a few times until the thought left his head. He couldn't afford to think like that, at least for now. As daunting a task as it was, he had to focus on breaking up with Clary and getting over his sexuality issues. Then, maybe he could dwell on that Morgenstern guy...

But first, breaking up with Clary. Especially after the last, weird 24 hours.

"Clary-" Simon began weakly.

She looked up at him through huge green eyes, blinking innocently. "What is it?" she chirped. Was this the same crazy ginger who had force-kissed him and given oral-sex to an applesauce syringe in public? She seemed so innocuous…

This was going to be harder than he expected. "How was your applesauce?" he covered, analyzing his own plate. To hell with breaking up for now. He could do that after dinner. But before the end of the date, definitely.

"Pretty good," she conceded, shrugging delicately. "It's just, you know, applesauce."

"I think I'll try mine," Simon delivered robotically. As if he _was_ made of metal, he stiffly picked up his syringe and contemplated the least awkward way of eating it.

Finally, he decided on biting on the tip with his molars and trying not to look as stupid as he felt. God-damn shady excuse for a restaurant.

He was just pushing the plunger when the voice that had been haunting his thoughts said, "Well, fancy seeing you here, Simon Lewis of the advertising department."

Simon coughed as the applesauce rocketed down his esophagus, causing him to choke slightly. After coughing more for a couple seconds, cheeks burning, Simon raised his eyes to the head of the table where none other than Sebastian Morgenstern was standing, mordant humor in his dark eyes and posture like a crouched tiger before it pounced.

"Yeah," Simon said flatly, "what a coincidence."

"Eh-hem," Clary tittered self-importantly, "would you mind telling me why you're here?" Her attempt at hostility was, naturally, directed at the towering model.

Sebastian acted like he hadn't even noticed her, giving the syringe still in Simon's hands an appraising glance. "Did you enjoy your applesauce?" he asked through half-lidded eyes, smirk playing at the left corner of his mouth. "I find its execution design very festive."

"What does that even mean?" Clary snapped, arms folding. Simon could see her anger level rising like a once-dormant volcano. "And you haven't even said hello to me yet. But I wouldn't expect anything else from someone like _you_," she half-yelled, half-spat, her voice getting the extremely nasally quality to it that it did whenever she was about to blow a gasket.

Simon exasperatedly ran his hand over his forehead and then addressed Sebastian. "Look, I thought you had to be upstairs at your aunt's party-"

"I do," Sebastian admitted shamelessly, "but I wanted to-"

"How do you know that?" Clary interrupted, accosting Simon. "Where he's supposed to be right now? Why do you know?"

"Clary-"

"Ignore her," Sebastian said as he slid into the booth seat next to Simon.

"I can't _ignore_ her!"

"You'd better not ignore me!" Clary shrilled.

"Now Simon, I-"

"Sebastian, not now-"

"Get out of here! We're kind of on a _date-_"

But then, the arguing faded as Sebastian, having caught sight of the hallway, visibly took a deep breath and sank down in his seat. "Damn it. God-_fucking_-damn it."

"What is it?" Simon worried. He craned his neck to see what was wrong, but he couldn't see over the elaborate top hat on the head of the man sitting at the table in front of him.

"Nothing," he claimed, glancing around nervously. "Shit!" he cursed, looking abruptly ill. "He's seen me."

"Who's seen you?" Clary snapped, obviously not having calmed down yet.

A great, hulking figure appeared at the head of the table, a booming and powerful voice appearing alongside. "Sebastian," it said dangerously.

"Father," he replied sheepishly.

"Wait, father?" Simon clarified. "As in… Valentine Morgenstern?" The Democratic nominee for presidency?

He turned a winning smile upon Simon, immediately changing his temperament. "Why, yes. Pleased to meet you, my boy." He said, seizing Simon's hand and shaking it. Then his mood shifted again, and he went back to angrily accosting his son. "Now, why in God's name are you not upstairs with your aunt right now?"

Sebastian just shrugged vaguely.

Simon, meanwhile, was still gaping at Valentine Morgenstern. Six and a half feet tall and built like a professional athlete, he did a pretty good impression of a mountain. Or skyscraper. Either way, the man was seriously tall.

His face was shockingly like his sons', classically good-looking (in a middle-aged way for Valentine, of course) with prominent cheekbones and a square jaw. But where Jace and Sebastian both had the sultry looks of male models, the elder Morgenstern was terrifying. Impressive. Imposing.

He crossed his powerful arms over his broad chest, frowning. Simon could see that even his tailored, pinstriped Italian suit struggled to accommodate his body and was pulled tight around his shoulders.

Alright, Simon thought, Valentine Morgenstern has officially become #1 on my list of people never to get into a fistfight with. Sorry, Bruce Banner.

"Your aunt has been going mad with worry," he boomed at his son.

Sebastian shrugged again.

"And you keep running out… One would almost assume that you are trying to avoid spending time with your loving aunt."

Simon had to hand it to Sebastian, standing his ground against his frightening father. If Simon were in his place, he'd probably be clutching the man's knees and begging for forgiveness.

"I had to send Jonathan after you-"

Clary unexpectedly interrupted him, her emerald eyes wide and excited. "You mean… Jace is here?"

Simon rolled his eyes. He knew that Clary had a ridiculous crush on the pretty model with the curly blond hair. It didn't really bother him, especially since he knew that she wasn't really serious about it. And since he was planning on breaking up with her.

Valentine sputtered, "What?" and then his eyes fell upon the small ginger. Suddenly, his face turned panicked and horror-struck, and he looked like he had seen a ghost. "Y-you!" he choked, blanching.

"What about me?" Clary said, her brow furrowing. "I've never met you before. Aren't you the guy on all those news shows?"

"He's the Democratic presidential candidate," Simon informed her dryly, repressing a groan.

"Oh. Well, still," Clary cheeped. "I'm just a really big fan of Jace. Is he here?"

Once again, Mr. Morgenstern composed himself. "Yes, Jonathan is here, but he is where he is supposed to be," he said pointedly to Sebastian. "Upstairs with his aged aunt Elodie."

Sebastian gave a sheepish smile.

"Anyway…" Valentine recovered, addressing Clary. "What is your name, young lady?"

"Clary."

"Full name?"

"Clarissa June Fray."

"June?" he whispered, once again horrified. "Of course…" Then he was back to normal. "Your political affiliation?"

"Communist."

"_Communist?_" he roared, physically being blown back as if by an unseen wind.

Simon was just as shocked. He had never heard anything like that about Clary! He swallowed the water he had briefly choked on and coughed out, "Communist? Clary, do you even know what that means?"

"Of course I know what it means," she sniffed, crossing her arms and tilting her chin up. "And I think that it's best for the United American States. I mean, just look at China! It's _clearly_ working for them."

"Clary…" Simon remarked miserably. He had always known that Clary was a radical (in high school, she had claimed to be monarchist) but he had always chalked it up to overall confusion about the world (like how she said her political party was "atheist" in sixth grade).

"Aw, it's alright," Sebastian said scarily close to Simon's ear. His hand, which had started on the boy's shoulder, was slowly sliding lower and lower down his back…

"EH-HEM," Valentine boomed importantly. That was something that Clary usually said… "I see now what has been keeping you, and I will not stand for it. Go upstairs _right this instant_ with your aunt. Go!"

"But-" Sebastian protested.

Then they had another person join the conversation. "Go where, Father?" He slid into the seat next to Clary.

She looked like she might die. Of excitement. "Jace!" she actually squealed. "Oh my God, you're here!"

He turned a winning smile on her. Simon resisted the urge to vomit all over his stupid smirk. "Yes, I am. Good evening, Clary."

"Oh my God," she whispered quietly, seemingly in awe. "You know my name."

Jace nodded at the boy across from the ginger. "Simon. Long time no see."

"Not nearly long enough," Simon said through his teeth, forcing a smile. What was going on? Why did he feel… jealous? He was all ready to break up with Clary, and-

"Jonathan," Valentine said, "why are _you_ not upstairs with Elodie?"

Jace tried to cover it up with a nervous laugh as he scratched the back of his head. "Well, it's a funny story about that-"

"No excuses. Back upstairs," commanded the senator. "Both of you!"

"Alright," Jace groaned, rising to his feet. "Whatever you say, old man." With a seductive wink for Clary, Jace went speeding off to the hallway.

"Old?" Valentine mused to himself. "I think not. Strange, that Jonathan." Then he seemed to remember what he had been doing. "Sebastian, why have you not gone upstairs yet?"

Sebastian piped up, "Look, Father, I'll be up in a little while. Give me one minute."

"One minute," he echoed darkly. "And it had better _be _one minute, or I'll come to fetch you again, and I will be far from happy."

"Like you're happy now?" Sebastian called after his father's retreating figure.

Valentine paused at the entrance of the hallway to turn around and glare at his son through identical black eyes. He wagged his finger at him, and then went back up to the party.

"Now," Clary said rudely to Sebastian, "why are you still here?"

"I wasn't done with my conversation," he said amicably enough. "And I wanted to see you again," For the last part, he was staring into Simon's eyes seductively.

Simon's cheeks flushed. This was undoubtedly his weirdest restaurant experience to date.

"See _who_ again?" Clary shrieked. "I'm sure you just want to steal my boyfriend and SLEEP WITH HIM IN ANOTHER THREESOME!"

Simon noticed that a couple tables away, a woman was gaping at Clary. As he watched, that same woman covered her small child's ears. Other people were staring, too, in varied stages of disgust and humor. This was turning out to be a really bad day.

A _good_ day, his mind corrected, since you've gotten to see Sebastian twice.

But… that was ridiculous! He had only met Sebastian the day before, and-

"Well," sighed the aforementioned Sebastian. "I'd better start going. My minute is probably almost up by now, and I bet he's counting seconds, knowing him."

"It was nice seeing you," Simon said, immediately kicking himself for sounding so… genuine.

"And you," the platinum-blond nodded with a growing smirk. "I look forward to seeing you again."

"Yeah," Simon breathed. Then he coughed in an attempt to disguise it. "I mean, maybe I'll see you at work on Monday. Or something."

"Something indeed."

Clary asserted her presence. "What is going on here? Can't you leave already? We're on an _extremely_ romantic date, and nowhere in that is 'Sebastian'."

"Then I guess this is goodbye. Pity." Very quickly, he pushed Simon against the back of the booth-seat and kissed his cheek. Without another word or even a witty comment, he was gone.

If Simon's cheeks were burning before, they were positively on fire now.

"Oh my God," Clary choked. Simon glanced up, just to make sure that she wasn't crying. She wasn't, instead looking like someone had just punched her. "Oh. My. God. The nerve of some people."

Simon let his head drop to the table. All he wanted to do now was curl up into a ball and die in a corner. Of all the public humiliation.

But then, the awkward silence was interrupted by the waiter Ithuriel, this time appearing sans trays. He held what looked like two… ice cream cones?

"Is that ice cream?" Simon asked suspiciously. He couldn't be too careful, especially at this infernal excuse for a restaurant. Damn shady Scalpel.

"Your complementary pulled pork ice cream cones," the waiter practically sang in that desolate bass rumble.

"Pulled pork _what?_" echoed Clary.

"Ice cream cones." Ithuriel handed the strange desserts off and began clearing away their empty plates.

Simon analyzed his. A scoop of ivory-colored ice cream, obscured here and there with barbecue sauce and pulled pork, entrapped inside a sugar cone. "Are you sure this is ice cream?"

Ithuriel's weathered face broke into a grin. "Mashed potatoes, actually." Then he and the plates departed.

Well, that was a _bit_ more comforting, at least.

As Simon moved his head forward to eat his pulled-pork-and-mashed-potatoes-in-a-cone, he remembered how he had been Jewish growing up. No pork and whatnot. But then, college had come and he discovered bacon. And it was all downhill from there, religion-wise.

So, with just a note of trepidation, Simon bit into his odd dessert, and wondered how a dish like that could possibly be all-organic.

* * *

><p>"<em>I'm just checking for cold feet."<em>

"_Mine are toasty warm."_

"_It's not too late to change your mind."_

"_What, now you're having second thoughts?" _Clary looked over her shoulder at Simon, raising her eyebrows a couple times. _"You are."_

"_I've been waiting a century to marry you, Miss Swan." _The theater, mainly composed of young women, collapsed into a single, drawn-out, "Awwww!" Including Clary. Simon sank down in his seat.

"_But?" _Clary leaned over and whispered into his ear, "This is so romantic. Thank you so much for taking me." He half-smiled in response, and went back to staring uncomprehendingly at the screen. _"But?"_

Clary hissed in Simon's ear, "You're the best boyfriend in the world. I want to make it up to you." He shrugged noncommittally. _"I haven't told you everything about myself."_ How true. God damn it, Simon thought. Your girlfriend drags you to a Twilight movie, and you start relating to Edward McSparklepants Diggory. Or whatever his name is.

"_What?" _Clary started toying with his hair. "How about we go back to your place after the movie?" Simon gulped and actually tried to pay attention to the action on screen, as vomit-worthy as it was. Clary was just being confusing. _"You're not a virgin?"_

That made him think of the night before. Concentration be damned.

"Simon…" Clary purred, hooking an arm around his shoulders and inching closer. "Well? What do you say?"

He forgot the question. "Um…"

"Give me an answer," she demanded.

"Okay… Uh, sure."

Then Clary actually squealed and, somehow knocking over both their drinks and even their popcorn, tackled Simon to the ground, kissing him passionately. He felt like a fish out of water. What was he supposed to do? "Do you actually mean it?" Clary panted between kisses.

"O-of course," he stammered blindly.

"Promise?"

"P-promise."

Then she squealed again and went back to ravishing his mouth.

* * *

><p>Simon and Clary stepped out of the screening room and into the hallway, a few paces behind most of the rabid, raving Twi-hards.<p>

He saw one of them, a girl, who was crying her eyes out. "It was so beautiful," she sniffled to her friends, who all wailed in response.

"It wasn't even GOOD!" Simon protested loudly. "It was just another half-rate Twilight movie, but with awkward sex scenes and a gross birth scene at the end."

One of the girls turned and gave him a death-glare.

Clary assured her, "No, he's just confused. He really thought it was romantic."

"Oh, okay," the girl said, drying silly tears from her face. Simon felt the urge to throw up. "I feel so sorry for you."

Clary elbowed him. "Say, 'thank you'," she hissed.

"I'm not going to _thank_ her!"

Then, he caught the tail end of another conversation between hysterical girls: "-and I think I'm going to have to see this again. It's _sooo_ good. I have to go for sixteen. Fifteen isn't enough for a movie like this."

"And I can't wait for Part Two!" her friend shrieked, eliciting even more squeals. And giggles.

Clary looped her arm around Simon's waist. "I can't wait for Part Two, too," she suggested with fluttering eyelashes.

"Yeah, it was just like, 'ZOMGFLOGGEN A CLIFFYFLOGGEN!'" Simon mocked, trying to be ironic.

Clary didn't pick up on it. "I didn't know that you were so into it," she said, pulling his arm around her shoulders.

Simon sighed, recognizing a lost cause. "Well, I guess that Bella's red eyes were just that exciting."

"They really were, weren't they?" Clary gushed.

Simon laughed mirthlessly. "They sure were."

"Now…" Clary said as they walked into the crowded lobby. "About your promise."

"Oh, yeah. That." What the hell had he promised her?

The ginger gave an almost insane-sounding giggle. "I have something planned."

Simon broke away from her. That tone of her voice… She was thinking something inappropriate. "Clary, I-" he began saying, before accidentally body-slamming an extremely thin young man in dark clothes. "Holy shit!" Once he was sure that his feet were planted firmly on the ground, Simon made sure that the other guy was okay. Surely enough, he was sprawled across the ground like a toppled bowling pin, black cape spread around him. Simon helped him to his feet. "I'm really sorry, I just didn't see you-"

But the man, staring fixedly at someone behind Simon's back, interrupted with a smooth, "Clarissa. We meet again."

The Lewis boy raised an eyebrow as Clary walked up alongside him. "Jacob!" she said.

Simon thought, This weirdo looks more like a _vampire_ than a werewolf.

Maybe he was cosplaying as one, what with the top hat, monocle, and overall black ensemble that appeared to be styled after the early Victorian era. Which Simon only knew, of course, from working at a modeling agency.

Clary gave the vampire-wannabe an appraising glance. "Wow! You look so… old-fashioned!"

Except for the eyeliner, Simon thought.

Jacob gave a strange, eerie laugh. "I am only dressed up for a night-time prowl."

"So, why are you here at Mysterioso Cinemas?"

"I always come here on Saturday nights, Clarissa, but I don't quite recall ever seeing you here. Or your… companion?" he finished questioningly, staring at Simon.

"Friend Simon," Simon corrected. "Er, _boy_-friend."

"Boyfriend," he chuckled darkly in response. "How cute."

"Yeah," Clary smiled, "we've been told that we're a cute couple before."

"Um…" Simon brought up, as it was bothering him. "How, exactly, do you two know each other?" Maybe they had met at a Twilight convention or something…

Jacob's lips drew back, exposing a mouthful of shark teeth. "We met on the public transport this afternoon."

Figures, Simon thought. Aloud, he said, "It was nice meeting you and all, Jacob, but we were just leaving, so…"

"Duly noted," he said politely, pulling his cape around himself. "I still await your visit, Clarissa. Farewell." He tipped his hat and kept walking through the crowd, standing out like a sore thumb. Only more gothic.

"Clary, that guy has severe problems," Simon said after a few seconds.

"Well, I think he's cool," she replied, grinning, and then dragged Simon out of the theater at rapid speed. "We going to take the subway?"

"To go where?"

"Your house, silly."

"My house?" he repeated, puzzled. "Why are _we_ going to _my_ house?"

She gave a manic chortle and said airily, "Oh, Simon, you're so much fun when you pretend not to know anything. Is that how we're going to do this?"

"Do what?" Simon had now accumulated a slightly fearful attitude.

Clary giggled again. "Then I guess you'll have to wait and see."

* * *

><p>Clary forced Simon by his shoulders into his desk chair of his bedroom, spinning it around to face her. "Now you sit here, and don't move," she ordered.<p>

Simon worried fretfully what this was all about. She still hadn't told him what he had promised, and he was getting suspicious. But, strangely, his brain wasn't letting him move. Or say anything.

She untangled his messenger bag from around his neck and began fishing in it. He felt like telling her to stop, but couldn't. Clary threw down his satchel, none too carefully, and he noticed that she had his iPhone in hand.

Her brows furrowed, Clary turned it on and assumedly was scrolling through something on it, until she finally cackled, "Perfect. I'm so happy that you have this on here."

Then, he watched as she plugged it into his speakers and cranked up the volume. He saw her expression of wicked glee before she turned her back, then saying, "Remember! No moving!"

A familiar musical interlude began playing. Panic! at the Disco… He and Clary had obsessed majorly over them in high school.

Finally, Clary turned around, whipped off her sweater, and began lip-synching. It all fell into place, then, and he understood exactly what was going on- and what he had unknowingly promised to- just from the song. Lying Is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off.

"_Is it still me that makes you sweat?" _Clary lip-synched, dancing around frightfully and trying to shake her hips to the beat. "_Am I who you think about in bed?"_

It was especially disturbing that, to Simon's wide eyes and fearful ears, it seemed like Brendon Urie's man-voice was coming from a petite ginger like Clary.

And as she cavorted around to the next few lines, suddenly she turned into Sebastian, serenading Simon with that highly provocative song.

"_When the lights are dim, your hands are shaking as you're sliding off your-" _Simon shook his head rapidly until Clary turned back into Clary, who was currently sauntering up to him. "_-think of what you did, and how I hope to God he was worth it!"_

He was _so_ worth it, Simon thought immediately, before gasping at his mind's comment.

No. Clary. He was with _Clary_. Clary was his_ girlfriend_. Clary. Not Sebastian. Clary.

"_The lights are dim-" _she had fully reached him now, and slowly removed his scarf, the friction of it raising goosebumps on his neck, _"-your heart is racing as your fingers touch your-"_

And then it was Sebastian again, straddling his lap and singing in his ear.

"_I've got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck than any boy you'll ever meet, sweetie. You had me." _

Simon gasped again, this time louder, and then rushed back to reality. With Clary lip-synching at him and feeling up his chest.

"_Girl, I was it. Look past the sweat, a better love deserving of exchanging body heat in the passenger seat-"_

And as he watched, their faces blended together into one, the body flickering between the small ginger and the tall platinum-blond.

"_Oh, no no. You know it will always just be me." _But who are you? Simon wanted to ask.

Then it was only Clary, shrieking out at the top at her lungs, _"LET'S GET THESE TEEN HEARTS BEATING FASTER, FASTER!" _while she literally ripped Simon's shirt off.

"Oh my God!" he yelled immediately, but didn't have time to properly react because Clary whipped off her yellow sundress and yanked down her hair, a red cloud of knots falling around her neck.

"_So testosterone boys and HAR-lequin girls, will you dance to this beat and hold a lover close-"_

And that's when Clary pounced, and Simon let her because he didn't know what else to do.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: REVIEW, PLEASE!**

**And a big round [or syringe] of applesauce to ComeTogetherToTheOtherSide (my dear best friend) for typing this up for me, since I was busy being Helen Keller in _The Miracle Worker_ and had no time to type what I wrote in my notebook. =( Thanks, Big M!**

**Happy Easter to anyone who celebrates it!**


	7. The Third Time

_Chapter Seven: The Third Time  
><em>

Clary awoke the next morning, not quite remembering what had transpired. Blame the fact that she wasn't in her own small room under the protection of her Panic! at the Disco poster, if you must.

Her eyes fluttered open, hazy light filtering into her dormant brain, and her first thought was, Where am I?

And then the fog lifted and she could make out the details of the room she was in. Blue walls with various posters for Sci-Fi movies. A shelf full of _Star Wars_ action figures. Desk complete with computer on top, the swivel chair that usually accompanied it lying on the floor, having been toppled by some unseen force. Shreds of clothes on the wood floor, partially covering a rug in the design of Superman's "S".

So she was in Simon's bedroom. It wasn't usually that messy, though, and why was there torn clothing on the floor-

Clary registered that she was in his bed, and a quick check revealed that she was naked.

For the second morning in a row? Waking up in a strange place, unclothed?

Then the full reality set in, and the previous night's memories flooded her head. She hadn't been acting like herself, and... had slept with Simon.

_Let's get these teen hearts beating faster, faster..._

But where was he now? If he had been sleeping next to her, there was no indication of that now. And the alarm clock said that it was 8:17 AM.

Clary sighed, still exhausted, stretched, and rolled out of bed onto her bare feet. What was she supposed to wear? Not that it mattered, since Simon had already seen her naked twice, now...

No. She didn't have _that_ much confidence yet.

Examining the remains of her sundress on the floor turned out to be useless, since there was a huge tear that would make it impossible to wear again.

Clary groaned at the loss and took a T-shirt out of Simon's dresser, putting it on like it _wasn't_ too big for her, along with a pair of jeans and a belt. She had to roll up the pant legs several tmes, but Simon was, thankfully, very skinny, so they weren't too loose with the belt.

She felt her hair, just testing the waters of how bad it was, and patted the same cloud of knots that she had dealt with the day before. Great.

Unable to shake the sense of looking incredibly silly, Clary walked through Simon's little house in sight of him. It was a short walk, but seemed as long and ominous as a march to her own execution.

When she finally found him, he was in his kitchen, sitting miserably at his tiny table. Simon's hands were clenched around a mug of coffee, and he was staring mournfully at nothing.

Clary padded onto the tiled floor, smiling weakly and saying, "Good morning, boyfriend."

He raised his dark gaze to meet her, slow and deliberate, but the look he gave her was as concentrated as acid. His mouth stayed firmly shut.

"I _said_... Good morning, boyfriend."

Had he not enjoyed himself as much as she thought he did? Was she really that terrible?

Simon's expression softened slightly, and he let out a long sigh. "I suppose it isn't _your_ fault."

Clary's brows knit together as a wave of confusion rocketed through her small body. "What isn't my fault?"

He sighed again. "Take a guess."

"I... I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Clary-" he began pleadingly, but broke off. When he had collected himself after a couple tense seconds, he continued, his tone now flat, "I'm talking about last night."

"Oh." Clary took a seat across the table, and Simon finished his cup of coffee in three large gulps. "What about it?"

"Clary, did I seem a little... distant... to you, by any chance?" he implored with sudden interest.

"I dunno. Maybe?" All that Clary could remember was how she seduced him so cleverly, and how they stayed up well into the night with each other. It had been alright, but not great. Maybe her expectations were unrealistic from reading all those fanfictions... If only she could remember her birthday night to compare!

"Well, the truth is... I didn't enjoy it. At all."

It hit her like someone had punched her in the gut. "W-what?" Had she heard wrong?

Simon looked miserable and his face and ears were both flooding with color. "I didn't particularly enjoy myself."

"What are you talking about? You were enjoying yourself alright!" Even though they were alone, Clary's voice dropped to a whisper from embarrassment. "I saw that you were having a good time. You know..." She could scarcely believe herself, what she was saying. "That." She made an impatient gesture at Simon's jeans, since he was already fully dressed. "Actually, I had it inside me. You were enjoying yourself enough."

"Oh my God. I can't believe you just went there! Why are you talking about that?" Simon looked even more scandalized than Clary felt.

"Well, you brought it up! You... _not enjoying yourself_ when you obviously _were_!"

Simon's hands flew in the air. "You know what? The only reason that you even were exposed to '_that_' is because I was thinking of SEBASTIAN!"

Clary's world seemed like it had abruptly come to an end. "You were what?"

Simon's posture became frantic and defensive, like a caged animal. Hunched slightly over the table and his shoulders tight, his voice also reflected the strange tension, coming out angry and yowling. "The entire time, I kept zoning out and thinking of Sebastian, because sleeping with a girl is, quite frankly, disgusting to me now!"

She felt tears of betrayal welling in her grass-green eyes. "No it's not! Just two days ago, you promised that you loved me and weren't gay, and now you've changed your mind? And just yesterday-" now she was fully crying, fat tears coursing down her face, "-just _yesterday_ you were going to propose to me at Scalpel, and-"

"Propose to you?" he echoed furiously. "Why the hell would I do something as fucking stupid as that? Where did you even get that idea?"

"You were acting weirder than usual and talking about our relationship! It seemed like you were going to propose to me, but you ran into the bathroom instead!" The more that she thought about it, the more that Clary realized how frustrated at Simon she was. How dare he?

"I was going to break up with you!"

"YOU WERE WHAT?" Clary shrieked.

"I was all set to break up with you, but I put it off because I had to go to the bathroom." Clary steamed silently, wiping her tears, and then Simon laughed bitterly. "And do you know what I _did_ in the bathroom?"

"I don't know, maybe _went to the bathroom?_"

"After that!"

"Washed your hands?" the ginger yelled, getting increasingly annoyed at him.

"No, actually, I saw Sebastian and we made out."

Her head was whirling. She wanted to point out that not washing his hands showed terrible hygiene, but was too far gone for jokes. "You cheated on me?"

"I wouldn't call it that, but I guess I did. He was right there, and I wanted him more than I've ever wanted you!"

"And you SLEPT WITH ME ANYWAY?"

"What was I supposed to do? I was confused!"

"YOU PROMISED!"

"To be honest, I didn't even remember your question when I said yes!"

This was far from how Clary had imagined the morning after her first time with Simon. She bit back a feeling of nausea, and stood up from the table. "That's it. I'm done. I'm out of here."

"Go right ahead!" Simon told her with an exaggerated gesture at the door, anger still burning in his gaze. "And good riddance."

"Bitch," Clary spat as she passed him, pausing briefly at the door on her way out. "And tell Sebastian that I feel bad for him."

Her slamming of the door cut off his bitter laughter.

* * *

><p>Clary was so angry by the time she she got to her own apartment, ripping off Simon's clothes the instant she stepped into her familiar bedroom, with its comforting tangerine-colored walls.<p>

But this morning, they offered no comfort.

Standing there naked, Clary shredded the T-shirt and jeans until they were nothing but scraps, even mustering up enough strength to decimate the braided hipster belt. Then she went into her kitchen and washed them down the garbage disposal, piece by piece. She got enjoyment from imagining that every rag looked like Sebastian and his stupid face.

She had decided that it was all _his_ fault: after all, her relationship with Simon was going wonderfully until he came along.

The ginger shoved a piece of fabric down the drain with new fervor... but it refused to move, staying half-lodged in. Clary fiddled with the switch for the disposal, but it wasn't working. When she turned it on for about the tenth time in a row, it let out a sound like a dying crocodile and then gave out entirely. "DAMN IT!"

In a furious flurry, she stomped to her tiny bathroom and flushed the remaining scraps down the toilet.

Her body racked with sobs, Clary loped into her room and threw herself down on the bed, muffling her crazed cries with her pillow. Didn't need the neighbors hearing anything.

After a satisfying cry-fest, she sat up, blowing her nose profusely, and decided to try to move on with her life.

She took a long, hot shower, paying special attention to her knotted hair until she could run her fingers through all of it, dried off, and got dressed. Clary put on her comfortable, usual type of outfit: plain T-shirt (bright yellow), bermuda shorts (denim), ankle socks (white), and green Skechers. She gathered her smoothed, vibrant hair into a ponytail like she almost always wore it, and felt like she was becoming herself again. Clary could pretend to be grown up, but even that didn't spare her from heartbreak. So from now on, she would stay true to herself.

She sighed and flopped backwards onto her bed, gazing at her Panic! at the Disco poster. It was from their early days, when they still dressed cool and Ryan wore makeup.

"What do you think, Brendon?" Clary asked, sighing again as she looked up into his handsome, scowling face. "What would you do if you were me?"

The ferocity in his dark brown eyes seemed to suggest that she should get back at Simon.

"You really think so?"

Suddenly, his stern expression seemed to affirm that yes, yes she should.

"But what should I _do_ to get back at him?"

Part of the chorus of "Lying" popped into her head, as if he was singing it at her.

_So testosterone boys and HAR-lequin girls, will you dance to this beat and hold a lover close?_

"You think that I should have sex with someone?"

It all made sense to her. She was a harlequin girl, _Brendon's_ harlequin girl, and she would show that dickhead Simon what was coming to him by metaphorically dancing to the beat of revenge and sleeping with someone.

"But who would make Simon the most jealous?"

It was then that she noticed the curious position of her poster on the wall. Brendon's gaze went across the room to her vanity table... And all of her pictures of Jace Wayland.

"Jace?" It was probably impossible. He was so beautiful, could have sex with anyone he wanted...

But he _had_ flirted with her at her party, had kissed her, and maybe even had slept with her. If it could happen once, it could happen again, right? Maybe she _was_ up to it...

She looked back at her poster, at the good-looking faces of Panic! at the Disco. They all seemed to agree with Brendon, but did she?

Clary remembered Simon's duplicity. She cried out in frustration, and punched her pillow. He _cheated_ on her. Her Simon, who she had loved for years, went behind her back with a _man_. He had it coming.

She decided right then that she would accept Brendon's challenge.

* * *

><p>Tracking Jace down, however, proved to be more difficult. She didn't even have his phone number. But Izzy would...<p>

A brief call to Isabelle gave Clary exactly what she needed. When the model had asked why she wanted it, Clary had fabricated the lie that she and Jace had resolved to talk about what had possibly happened two nights before, but they'd forgotten to exchange phone numbers. Izzy sounded suspicious, but gave it to her anyway.

Clary, now done with Isabelle, excitedly dialed Jace's cell phone number. Two rings went by and she wondered if this plan was going to work, but then he picked up.

"Talk to me," his low, sexy voice drawled into her ear. "This is Jace."

She forgot to breathe for a second, but recovered, her voice choked slightly with nervous anticipation. "Uh... hi," she said, ending in a giggle. Why did she have to sound so stupid?

"Who is this?" he inquired suspiciously.

"It's, um, me. Clary Fray."

"Oh, hello, Clary. I didn't recognize your voice over the phone."

Said voice cracked into another giggle. "Yeah, I've heard that before." Actually, she hadn't. Where was all of this coming from? "I must sound really different, I guess."

"I suppose so." Jace's voice, meanwhile, was unmistakable- no one had as delicious a voice as he did. That is, except for maybe Brendon Urie. "So... why are you calling me, exactly?"

Damn it! her brain screamed. Aloud, she said a breathless variation on what she'd told Izzy. "Well, a couple nights ago, we might have, you know, slept together? So I think we should talk about it."

"Okay, if you really want t-"

"Great! Are you doing anything today?"

He let out a long exhalation into the receiver. "I don't _think_ so."

"Then where do you want to meet?"

"Anywhere you want," he delivered flatly.

"Alright..." Clary's brain was thinking quickly. "How about the Sculpted Lady at 2?"

"The scene of the crime," Jace acknowledged with a chuckle that made her like him even more. "Sounds fine to me."

Again, her brain refused to make her voice normal. "See you then!"

"Sure." Jace hung up with a click.

Clary squealed ecstatically and danced around her bedroom in triumph. Brendon's idea was _definitely_ going to work.

* * *

><p>Clary, although she had resolved to be herself, underwent a dramatic transformation before seeing Jace.<p>

Besides, bermuda shorts weren't really suited for swanky lounges, anyway. Hopefully she was right...

So she put on her vintage sailor dress, as nautical as ever, with black Mary-Jane shoes. Clary left her red hair in its ponytail, and only applied a thin layer of pink lip-gloss in terms of makeup.

After all, she could be herself and still look pretty.

She hoped that Jace would like it.

* * *

><p>Hours later, after stuffing herself with a large coffee from Java Jones and an even larger bag of bao buns from the Chinese place down the street from her apartment, Clary was sitting on a couch in the Sculpted Lady with a feeling of extreme deja-vu from her birthday.<p>

Even though the aroma of oranges and sandalwood was nothing more than a faint tinge in the air and all the people around her weren't her party guests, it looked mainly unchanged from her birthday.

It was here that she had so many milestones in one night: first surprise party, first alcoholic beverage, first limo ride, first kiss from Jace Wayland, first body shots, first time having sex, and first orgy, to name only a few.

And hopefully, she would have another milestone at the Sculpted Lady tonight: seducing Jace with her feminine wiles. It was a scary idea, but she decided that she could handle it.

And there he was.

Tall and blond and handsome as ever, Clary watched in rapt fascination as he walked through the door and paused, scanning the surrounding area for her. Did he not see her?

Just as Clary was raising her arm to catch his attention, he saw her and began to make his way through the crowd of well-dressed afternoon lounge-goers. She let her arm fall limply to her side as excitement affected her being like static electricity.

It was just so... _enthralling_ for her. She had harbored little fantasies here and there, and the idea that they just might come true sent her heartbeat into overdrive. This was it!

"Hey, Jace!" she said exuberantly when he was about to sit down.

Apparently surprised at her outburst, he glanced at her and said distractedly, "Hello, Clary," before alighting on the cushion next to her. Being so close to him... It was incredible.

He was looking at her in an unreadable way, propping his face up with his fist. "So, we're here now. What do you want to talk about, again?"

Clary smiled. It was time to commence Operation: Seduce Jace Wayland. "I don't think that we need to talk just yet. How about we get some drinks?"

"Okay. I guess I'll get them... What do you want, Miss Barely Legal?"

And he was hilarious, too! What a perfect specimen. "Whatever you want to give me," Clary said, flirting as well as she knew how. She made sure to bat her eyelashes, and moved a bit closer to Jace until their thighs were touching.

Jace stood up immediately, which was disappointing. "Sure." Then he went to the bar, and Clary's dissatisfaction was short lived, as she realized that watching him walk away was a treat on its own. Runway training had clearly paid off. His stride was effortless and probably counted as an art form, and seeing his tailored black pants moving with his leg muscles was icing on the cake.

Clary got enveloped in another fantasy... This time, she ran up to the bar and jumped onto it, landing in a seductive pose. Jace looked surprised, but grinned and ran his large hands over her body as their lips met... Everyone else disappeared, and it was just the two of them making out on top of the bar-

She fell back into reality when someone pushed a drink into her hands. Blinking, the ginger was met by a view of Jace, sitting down... So she was still daydreaming?

But then she remembered that it was real, and that she was actually spending one-on-one time with him.

She couldn't fight the huge smile that spread across her face as her small hands closed around the glass. "What did you get me?" Clary asked, looking down into the clear liquid uncomprehendingly.

"Water," Jace replied smugly, holding up his big glass of whiskey as if toasting her, before draining half of it in one enormous gulp.

"Oh." She noticed his self-satisfied smirk. "Wait just a minute. _You_ think you're being funny," Clary accused playfully.

"I admit nothing," he said, still smirking.

"And you're actually doing me a favor, you know. Water is extremely healthy, unlike alcohol."

"Is that so, little intern?" He finished off his whiskey, slamming the empty glass onto the coffee table in front of them in the dim, crowded room.

"Yeah, and I heard that it kills brain cells."

"And you're inferring that I should care about that, because...?" He was staring at her through amused, light brown eyes. And they were so close that Clary could see the light gold flecks in them that occasionally showed up in pictures of him. Golden eyes. What a concept.

"Well, you _obviously_ care about _my_ brain cells, since you gave me water." Clary scooted an inch closer, hoping that he wouldn't jump up again.

He didn't. "That is _obviously_ why I gave you water in the first place," he said sarcastically.

"Oh, really? Then why _did_ you?"

Jace told her, grinning pleasantly, "You can't handle your alcohol."

"I can!" Clary protested. "I _deff_ can handle my alcohol."

"Would you like to test that theory?"

"I think I would."

"Then so be it. But you've got to recognize that you can't beat me, small child."

"I think that _you've_ got to recognize your over-inflated ego. I bet that you can't even handle two drinks," Clary challenged without thinking.

"Then I guess it's time for shots."

Clary nodded. "Tequila." What was she getting herself into?

* * *

><p>Many drinks later, they were falling over each other, giggling wildly with drunken abandon.<p>

Clary had gotten through about five shots when her head started spinning, so she didn't take any more since. Jace didn't notice, though, most likely because she kept goading him to take more and more and more. His alcohol capacity _was_ impressive, but not infinite. Soon, the two of them were significantly sloshed.

It prompted Clary to giggle as she perched unsteadily on his lap. "You are just so hot. I can't get over it."

"Aw, thanks. I usually get that kind of response from people." Then he let out a booming laugh, and Clary saw what he got from Valentine.

"Well, it's true. And you're so funny and ch-charming," she enthused, ending in a belch. "'Scuse me."

"You're kinda cute, too."

"Really? Y-ya think so?"

"'Course."

Clary's heart soared. Jace Wayland was complimenting her. "What do you like about me?"

He shrugged vaguely, which sent Clary swaying on his lap. "Your hair? It's a pretty color."

"Oh, Jace," she sighed, swooning slightly. "I have to tell you something, though," Clary prattled, stroking his soft, golden curls. "Something I've gotta _admit_."

"What?" he wondered. The tipsy smile on his face was so attractive; it was all Clary could do not to kiss the life out of him then and there.

"I dunno if I can tell you," she grinned.

"Tell me!"

Alcohol had lowered her inhibitions, so Clary spoke the first thing that came to mind. "Kiss me first, and maybe I will."

And to her surprise, he leaned forward and planted an exaggerated kiss on her lips with a loud smooching sound. "Alright. Now you have to tell me."

Clary was in a state of shocked bliss, touching her lips as if to relive the moment. How could this wonderful moment be real life?

"Come on," Jace insisted. "You said you were gonna tell me. So do it."

She put her mouth as close to his ear as she possibly could without physically touching it. "When I called you earlier, it was so that we could go on a date and have sex."

"Really?" he asked, looking baffled, although the aloof smirk remained on his lips.

"Really," Clary breathed in return, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him into another kiss.

But then, after only a few seconds, he turned his face until her lips were on his cheek and pried her off of him. A new expression had replaced the former. Now his brows were furrowed, a panicked glint in his eyes. Clary stared, not understanding, as he shook his head repeatedly. "No. I can't do this."

"What? Of course you can," she told him, diving in again and brushing her lips against his.

And, once more, he evaded her. "No... You don't understand. You're a nice girl, Clary, but... I have a girlfriend." Every trace of drunkenness seemed to have deserted him, as his gold eyes stared at her with sober clarity. "I shouldn't have even let it get this far."

"Don't think about that now. All that matters is you and m-"

"No! Stop! I have a _girlfriend_."

"I'm sure she wouldn't mind," Clary suggested desperately. She couldn't lose this moment, couldn't face reality. "I'm _sure_ she wouldn't mind," she repeated.

"No." He pushed the small ginger gently off his lap and stood up. "Bye, Clary."

And Jace walked away with nary a backwards glance, hair glinting in the light as he went.

* * *

><p>Fifteen shocked and grief-stricken minutes later, Clary was sitting at the bar, crying into her arm, which was resting on the surface.<p>

This can't be happening! her brain kept repeating.

The double-rejection from Simon and then Jace was almost too much. And everything had been perfect up until the actual abandonment in _both_ cases.

And being drunk, on top of being miserable, didn't help one bit.

Clary kept crying, unaware of the people around her who were giving her odd looks. She wept and wept, until someone decided to help.

"Hey... you alright?" a friendly voice that was as slick as oil asked from behind the bar. One would assume that oily voices wouldn't be very nice, but his almost _was_, to Clary at least. And it was also familiar, bringing up other memories from the last (and only other) time she was drunk...

Clary raised her head, sniffling. "Eric?"

"Hey, birthday girl, what's getting you down?" he wondered sympathetically, and Clary didn't even remind him that it wasn't her birthday anymore. She was too busy laughing weakly and wiping her tears.

Eric's spray-tan was the same shade of orange that she remembered, and his murky blond hair was still spiky and pink-tipped. And he was wearing his employee uniform, with the brown bow tie, cream button-down shirt, and brown pants. Somehow, this consistency comforted her. Someone was still the same after the past few days.

"A lot of things," Clary laughed with a hiccup, dissolving into more sobs very rapidly. "Simon broke up with me, and-"

"He did what, now?" She smiled tearfully at Eric's look of outrage. "Why the hell would he break up with a pretty thing like you?"

Her smile grew and her sobs lessened while tears continued pouring out of her eyes. "I dunno. You'd have to ask him."

"Listen, doll, he doesn't know what he's missing," Eric assured her. "Would you like something to drink? I'll even make it on the house, but only because it's you."

"Um... I'm already kinda dizzy, so... Can I have something non... non..." What was the word? "Non... Not with alcohol in it?"

He winked. "Sure thing."

As he fixed her a mystery drink, Clary drained her sorrows. She told him an abbreviated version of what happened, mainly focusing on the rejections. "...and I just don't know what to do anymore," she finished miserably.

"First, drink this," Eric suggested, and handed her a glass of a dark, brownish liquid.

Clary wondered doubtfully, "What is it?"

"Secret family recipe," he told her with another wink. "Just try it."

"'Kay..." Clary lifted the cup uneasily to her lips and took a hesitant sip. It was very pleasant, tasting like coffee and chocolate and orange juice. Maybe it was. But somehow, it lifted her spirits slightly. "Wow. That was really good."

"It always works."

"Well, thanks." Clary drank the rest, and when she was done, saw Eric still staring intently at her. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," he said, immediately picking up her empty glass and turning around.

"No. You were staring at me. Why?"

Eric faced her then, turning slowly, and gazed deeply into her eyes. His were a kind of dusky blue, and were undoubtedly the most attractive thing about him. Clary felt butterflies coming into her stomach. "I just think that you don't deserve to be dumped like that, and that you could use someone to show you what you don't even know that you want yet."

Too many words, Clary thought, head spinning. "What?"

"I know a guy who can de-mystify the world of sex to you," he explained, tilting her chin up with one hand.

"Who?"

"I don't know... Maybe... me?" he suggested offhandedly.

"Oh." Clary's cheeks darkened. "I don't know about that..." she choked, drawing back.

He looked hurt, and Clary instantly felt bad. "Come on. It'll be worth your while..."

"Really?"

"Would I lie to you, sweetheart?" he asked, gazing into her eyes again. He _would_ never lie to her, Clary was now sure of it. How could someone so honest and nice lie to anyone?

"No. I don't think you would."

"Exactly." He lowered his voice, so Clary moved closer to hear better. "Listen. I get released from this hell-hole in about fifteen minutes, and then we can go back to my place. Can you wait for me?"

"O-of course," Clary said genuinely.

He pressed his lips against hers, just for a brief moment. "Then I look forward to it, Clara."

"It's Clary."

Eric kissed her again. "That's what I meant."

* * *

><p>Clary awoke at Eric's house the next morning while it was still dark outside. She felt empty and also had a pounding headache, but that was it.<p>

Her evening had been alright- no more, no less. For all of his big talk, Eric hadn't quite lived up to her expectations. She didn't quite regret her decision, but wasn't unbearably happy about it either. She only felt... empty.

So she went home and got back at around 4:30 AM, falling into bed and instantly drifting into a deep sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Another chapter down! And three men down for Clary! How about that? What do you think?**

**Clary's a naive girl, so bear with her. Will she learn eventually? Will she learn anything? Is she even pregnant yet? Who knows? It will all be revealed in due time...  
><strong>

**But if anyone has any suspicions about (a) who the father is, and/or (b) what happened at the orgy, feel free to leave a comment. Or two. Or PM me. =) I'm very flexible like that.  
><strong>

**Love,  
>I Suffer From Hubris<br>**


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